Blind Pigs
by sapereaude13
Summary: An AU retelling of FFXII set during the Great Depression. The New York based Archadia Industries has taken over the Chicago company R.A. Banastre, Inc. It's up to a deposed heiress, street rats, and bootleggers to save the day. Eventual BalthierAshe.
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: This story was an AU challenge from the wonderful ladies of the Balthier and Ashe Livejournal community. The goal was to set the FF12 gang in the Roaring Twenties, and I've just shifted the timeline ahead into the Great Depression. A blind pig is another name for a speakeasy.

**Chicago 1929** - The stock market has just crashed, leaving R.A. Banastre, Inc. in financial ruin. The corrupt New York-based Archadia Industries has just bought up all of their stock at the reduced rate and has virtually taken over. Raminas B'Nargin, CEO of R.A. Banastre is dead, and his heir, Miss A. B'Nargin has committed suicide, leaving Archadia to extend its talons to Chicago via its privately hired Pinkerton agents. **Time passes...the time is now 1931**. Can Chicago and R.A. Banastre be saved?

**Blind Pigs**

Prologue

From the _Chicago Tribune_ Records of R.A. Banastre, Inc.

**October 26, 1929**

**Wall Street Markets Crash; Chicago Industries In Danger**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

New York is in turmoil as the bull market has collapsed. Chicago is just starting to feel the pinch. The company with the greatest amount to lose is R.A. Banastre, Inc. (NYSE: RAB), the Chicago-based technology firm. The recent merger with Nabudis Chemicals has been a catastrophic loss for R.A. Banastre. Faith in Banastre has evaporated since the recent leadership shake-up in Nabudis after the tragic deaths of the Heios family in an automobile accident in Atlantic City. With Nabudis in chaos, R.A. Banastre was already on shaky ground, and early reports indicate that Banastre stocks will plummet to all-time lows when the exchange opens again today. Sell is the word of the day on the streets of Chicago. Will CEO Raminas B'Nargin be able to save his company and the jobs of his employees?

**November 17, 1929**

**Bloodbath at R.A. Banastre Inc., Solidors Wipe Up the Mess**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

The city is in shock today after R.A. Banastre workers stormed the CEO's office at their headquarters on Michigan Avenue . Chief Executive Officer Raminas B'Nargin is dead along with most of his board members. The notification that many workers would lose their jobs in the recently announced Archadia Industries merger allegedly caused a massive and deadly confrontation. B'Nargin's Vice President of Research and Development, Mr. Basch F. Ronsenburg, was apparently disgruntled by the elimination of his position and incited the workers to revolt. Ronsenburg has yet to be found, and the Chicago Police Department has launched a full investigation.

Despite the bloody and chaotic events, Archadia Industries (NYSE: ARCH) CEO Vayne Solidor has pledged to continue efforts to merge his company with the troubled R.A. Banastre, urging Chicagoans to move past the loss of B'Nargin to welcome New York-based Archadia to the Windy City. Solidor's company has begun buying up the now cheap R.A. Banastre stock. He has promised to hire back deposed Banastre employees and will bring in Pinkerton detectives to keep the chaos out of the streets of our fair city. Crime, theft, and bootlegging have skyrocketed since the Wall Street crash. Our citizens are hungry, and Solidor vows to wipe out corruption in Chicago.

**November 22, 1929**

**Last B'Nargin Dead; Solidor Merger Process Completed**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

Ashelia Amalia B'Nargin, 17, the heir of the late Raminas B'Nargin, has taken her own life according to sources close to R.A. Banastre Inc. Miss B'Nargin was attending classes in business administration at Northwestern University and was a Chicago society darling since her debut in 1926. Miss B'Nargin's engagement to Nabudis Chemicals' Rasler Heios made headlines last year until the young man's tragic death in Atlantic City. Friends described Ashelia as "her father's daughter through and through, a loyal Chicagoan, and an intelligent young lady." Archadia Industries CEO Vayne Solidor released a statement early this morning confirming Miss B'Nargin's suicide, stating that Raminas B'Nargin's will stipulated that ownership of the company would have been in Ashelia's hands upon his death.

With her loss, R.A. Banastre Inc. falls to its largest stockholder and with 75 ownership, Archadia Industries (NYSE: ARCH) will now take full control of the technology corporation. Secretary of the Treasury Halim Ondore will be in Chicago today to show government support for the Archadian takeover, and Treasury Department lawyers have reviewed B'Nargin's will to confirm the legality of Solidor's claims. Solidor is enthusiastic about the merger, and his Pinkerton agents have already begun rounding up criminals and crooks. Cook County Jail may already be facing an overflow issue thanks to Solidor's caring leadership.

**November 20, 1931**

**Second Anniversary of Archadia Takeover; Spectacular Party Planned**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

The Windy City is abuzz with whisperings about the large event planned for November 22nd at R.A. Banastre headquarters on Michigan Avenue. Archadia CEO Vayne Solidor is already in town to celebrate the second anniversary of his company's merger with R.A. Banastre. All of elite Chicago society will be in attendance. Solidor bodyguard and Pinkerton agent Noah Gabranth has declared that security at this fete will be top of the line. There have been threats issued against Solidor's life by the insurgent Banastre Workers' Union, but Gabranth assures the Tribune that any criminal activity by the BWU will be suppressed with lethal force.

But is now really the time for celebration? Since Archadia's takeover two years ago, Banastre's fortunes have plummeted along with the rest of Chicago businesses. In fact, Archadia has cut employee wages by nearly seventy percent, and many disgruntled workers have gone missing. These same allegations dogged Vayne Solidor in New York, and his Pinkerton agents have some explaining to do. Crime is on the rise in Chicago despite…or because of Archadia-operated Pinkerton behavior. Rumblings about a call for a repeal of Prohibition in Washington have apparently set the city's speakeasy owners on edge, and the fete in two nights may be a powder keg this city has not seen since the Haymarket Riots of 1886.


	2. Chapter One

Chicago weather was always unpredictable, and Vaan wished he'd brought a warmer coat that morning. He didn't have enough money for the streetcar, so he'd had to hoof it all the way from Taylor Street. But he'd have more than enough to get home if he was successful today. Miguel was helping out at that Vayne Solidor's party tomorrow night, and it was coming out of his own pocket. Just who did this Vayne guy think he was? Kytes shivered nervously as they hurried towards Michigan Avenue.

Since his parents died from the flu so many years ago, he had stayed in Little Italy with the kind immigrant storekeeper Miguel and another orphaned girl, Penny, but times had been a lot tougher since the crash and then the events at R.A. Banastre. Vaan's brother Rex had been an office boy for Basch Ronsenburg himself in those days, and he always talked about how well he was treated at work. But when the money troubles came, Rex was in the middle. Vaan could still remember the tears on Penny's face when she brought in the paper that morning.

Almost everyone on the top floor of R.A. Banastre had been killed by Basch and the workers since they didn't want Archadia taking over. Vaan didn't think much of Archadia since they were crooks too, but Rex had been innocent. He and Penny went up to Graceland Cemetery every chance they could afford the streetcar fare. But it wasn't enough. Chicago had been all wrong for two years now, and Archadia had made it worse.

Kytes coughed hard beside him, and Vaan shoved his cold hands in his pockets. The R.A. Banastre headquarters loomed over the street with those stupid Pinkerton guards at every entrance. Vaan stayed in the alley and peered around the corner. There were two Pinkerton guards at the service entrance, and their breath was visible in several puffs. They were obviously chatting up a storm and not caring much about their jobs. They'd be a good target. He gave his friend a nod, and Kytes raced over to the entrance. "Please sir! Help! There's a baby in the alley over there. Someone's left it!" Kytes screamed.

Vaan watched the guards roll their eyes, and the taller agent shoved the other fellow in Kytes' direction. Kytes waved his hand. "This way, sir! Hurry, please! I can't find his mother anywhere!" The guard shuffled slowly after Vaan's friend, and Vaan cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Kytes and the guard approached, and Vaan made his move. He jumped out of the alley like he was running and bumped into the guard. "Kytes! Someone took the baby!" he cried out as he snatched the agent's wallet from his back pocket. "Oh, sorry mister."

"Get out of here, ya lousy kids!" the agent snarled and turned around, cuffing Kytes about the head. He hurried back to his post as Vaan and Kytes raced through the alley. The agent's shouts could soon be heard blocks away about the theft, and Vaan held the wallet proudly.

They hurried through the downtown alleyways, and it was all clear until someone leapt out in front of them, causing Vaan to drop the wallet in fright. "Just what do you two think you're doing?" the person asked angrily.

"Haha, see ya later Vaan. I better get back to Miguel's," Kytes teased, hurrying off and away from the third member of their little gang. Vaan sighed as Penny picked up the wallet and opened it up. She pulled out a few bills and stuffed them in the pocket of her nearly threadbare jacket.

"Hey! That's mine! What have we been saying forever, Pen?" Vaan complained as the blonde girl scowled at him. "Archadia's stolen from us, so why not steal from them? Maybe they'll leave Chicago and go back to New York and just let us alone."

Penny tossed the empty wallet back to him. "You're stealing from Pinkertons, Vaan. They're just hired thugs. It's that Vayne Solidor you should really rob. And that's impossible, so you need to stop stealing. What would happen if you got thrown in jail? Ever since Archadia's been in Chicago you know people go missing and don't come back. And now that Capone's gone there's nobody to protect the little guy. That's you and me, you know." She rubbed her hands together for warmth and began walking to the streetcar stop.

Al Capone had been a criminal too, but he'd done a lot for the city. Now he was in jail, and the Archadia Industries' guards had full reign in Chicago. Miguel was always complaining about the mobsters' infighting, and now without Capone, there weren't any altruistic mobsters left in the city. Archadia had to pay. They just had to! The press was finally beginning to turn against them, and the Banastre Workers' Union was growing stronger, but there needed to be something more. Something important. Penny would never let him do it, but Vaan had a plan. Kytes had said that Old Dalan, the crazy man who visited Miguel's soup kitchen, was always raving about stocks and "Archadia's secret," but Kytes had never understood what he meant. When they got back to Taylor Street, Vaan was going to have a word with Old Dalan.

They walked past a newsboy who was shouting about the big fete, and Penny sighed. "How can they throw a big party? What do they have to celebrate? They're killers, all of them. A bunch of rotten crooks." They boarded the streetcar, and Vaan opened the wallet while they rode back to Little Italy. Somewhere, a dumb Pinkerton agent named David Bergan was missing his driver's license, and Vaan smiled.

-----

Miguel was racing around the store when he and Penny got back, and Vaan felt bad for running off to go pickpocket that morning. The Archadia Industries' people were using "locals" to cater their stupid party, and Miguel had had to mortgage his business just to buy enough food to make for the celebration. He made no profit running the soup kitchen, and the store had fallen on hard times lately. The heavy-set man hurried about anxiously, checking on pies in the oven and pots of soup on the stove, his deep, scratchy voice full of what Vaan guessed were Italian curse words.

"Ah, Vaan. Penelope. So good of you to come back. I need this corn shucked for the fete," Miguel mumbled, gesturing wildly to a table in the rear of the kitchen. Vaan sighed and got to work, Penny at his side. Kytes was already busy peeling carrots for some casserole that Miguel would be molding into the shape of Lake Michigan for reasons only the Archadia Industries people seemed to understand. As he pulled the husks off the ears of corn, Vaan frowned. There was no way all of this food would get eaten at the party. It would all be wasted. There was enough to feed half the people on Taylor Street for a week.

Miguel came racing back through the swinging kitchen door with a loaf of bread under each arm. "Vaan! Take the soup off the stove. The lunch crowd's here." Vaan leapt from the table with more enthusiasm than he usually showed, and he caught Penny's eyebrows rising in confusion. Vaan gave Miguel a salute and grabbed a pair of potholders and tossed on an apron. He carried the large pot of broth through the door into the soup kitchen. Little Italy was very poor since many people had been laid off after the crash in 1929. Miguel wanted to give back to the community that welcomed him to America and so he served lunches and dinners from his own pocket. There wasn't much food to serve these days, but Miguel insisted on at least having broth and bread each day.

The line was nearly out the door already, and Vaan carried the large pot to the front. He began ladling the dark broth into tin bowls, checking the door every few seconds to see if Old Dalan had arrived yet. The old man was a bit off, and there were always whisperings that he'd worked for Raminas B'Nargin back in the day. When Archadia arrived in Chicago, Dalan had gone into hiding in Little Italy. Al Capone's gang had protected him until recently, but with the gangster's arrest, Dalan was defenseless and now hid in the sewers. Vaan had always considered him a bit crazy. What could Archadia do to a senile old man?

Like clockwork, Dalan limped into the door of the shop, carrying his pet rabbit. Miguel had begged Dalan to let him serve the rabbit, but Dalan would hear none of it. Vaan served up the broth quickly, hurrying the shuffling crowd along the lunch line. When Dalan approached, his mind seemed elsewhere, and Vaan held out the bowl of soup tentatively. "Hey Dalan, mind if I have lunch with you today?"

Dalan mumbled something to the rabbit and snatched the bowl of soup away. "Let me eat first, boy." Vaan sighed and gripped the ladle tightly. Dalan had to help him. He had to know Archadia's secret! The old man moved to a table in the back, and Penny approached with a full pot of soup.

His friend eyed him suspiciously, her braids twitching. "Why are you bothering Dalan?"

Vaan rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to be nice to him. But he only seems to want to be friends with his stupid rabbit."

Penny cocked her head and watched Dalan dip some bread in his soup, his eyes focused on a water spot on Miguel's ceiling. "He's a bit more subdued today. You should have heard him at dinner last night. He was mumbling about some stupid vault and that 'the papers' were there. It's so sad. Completely lost it."

Vaan bit his lip. Archadia's secret was just papers? How would that do anything? But he was determined to find out if he had to nag Dalan all day. He turned to Penny and put his hands on her shoulders. "Can you do the seconds line? I want to talk to him."

Penny sighed. "I guess so. But you need to pull your weight around here. We're all counting on you, Vaan." He waved his hand dismissively and took off the apron. He set it in Penny's arms and strolled over to Dalan's table.

The old man slurped his soup loudly and did nothing at Vaan's approach. Vaan scratched his head and cleared his throat. "So um, Kytes said you know Archadia's secret."

Dalan stiffened, his spoon stalling halfway to his mouth. "I'm not crazy you know."

He crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on the wooden table. "Well? So what's the secret? Archadia's ruining this town, Dalan. There's not much we can do about the money situation around here, but I just know they're making it worse. They've got that dumb party tomorrow, and I hate that Miguel has to go into debt just to feed them casseroles shaped like bodies of water."

A small smile quirked at the corners of the elderly fellow's mouth. "It's illegal. What Archadia did…they lied. They bribed the Treasury to buy Raminas out. He was going to turn down the merger that night. I was his barber, and you would be surprised what executives blab about when they get a shave and a haircut."

"So the government's corrupt too? How far does it go?" he asked in surprise. What had really happened that night in 1929? The papers said that the paperwork for the merger was getting signed when Basch Ronsenburg broke in with all those workers. And Rex had been in the crossfire. Did Archadia have something to do with them? Was Basch working for the Solidors?

Dalan shook his head. "Government's not so much corrupt as interested in saving its ass, if you'll pardon an old man. They know Archadia's got some secret project under wraps, and threats aren't going to work. Anti-trust won't, Internal Revenue won't, none of it. Because they say it might be a weapon. So Archadia's got them all paid off." Vaan's eyes widened. Archadia was worse than even he'd thought. "So you want to know the secret then?"

Vaan nodded. "Yes, anything. I want to take them down! For Rex."

The old man grinned. "I'm too old to do much anymore, but you my boy…you might be of some use after all." He set the rabbit down on the table, and the animal began licking up some of the soup and bread crumbs. Dalan pulled out his wallet and thumbed through a yellowed, tattered collection of cards. He handed over one that was still in pretty good shape. "Giza Dry Cleaners on Halsted. You want to talk to Brunoa."

He gave Dalan a strange look. "Dry cleaning?"

Dalan laughed. "Brunoa used to run with Al and his boys. Tell her I sent you. You need a uniform for the fete, my boy. She'll know how to help you."

The old man continued to explain his plan, and Vaan glanced over to see Penny staring at him with a measure of irritation.

He gripped the dry cleaner's card in his hand and set his jaw. If this didn't work, he might not be able to come back ever again.

-----

**November 22, 1931**

**Archadia Industries Fete Tonight; Solidor Laughs Off Texan Threats**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

The city's wealthiest and most influential citizens will gather tonight at the R.A. Banastre headquarters in celebration of the two year anniversary of Archadia's arrival in Chicago. Local chefs have been hired to treat the honored guests to a grand feast. Guest of Honor Vayne Solidor has come under heavy fire for his lavish entertainments when there are thousands starving in the streets, but he has promised bold changes for the new year to come.

"Chicago is a great town," Solidor said today in a conference at the Chicago Board of Trade. "Archadia Industries is here to stay, and the next fiscal year will see great improvements. We've got a lot of exciting projects in the pipe back in New York, and I shall endeavor to bring some of these projects out here to this fine city. 1932 will be a turning point, I assure you. Our best and brightest scientists are going to take American industry to greater and greater heights."

Recent rumblings in the south are apparently not troubling Mr. Solidor either. The Margrace oil empire in Texas has been beating its financial war drums, claiming that they'll be seeking to buy out R.A Banastre from Archadia in the coming fiscal year. Company chairman Albert Cid Margrace has been pushing for Margrace Oil to expand into the energy industry, and they have their sights set on R.A. Banastre. When questioned about the Texan family's claims, Solidor laughed.

"Margrace Oil can barely keep track of their own fields. They've got some work to do before they can catch up to Archadia."

Tonight's fete will also see the unveiling of Project Bahamut, a program Archadia Industries has kept under tight wraps for several months. Not much is known about this project, but Solidor claims that it will "change the face of American foreign policy." Hopefully tonight's event will explain what he means.

-----

Vossler's nerves were about shot, and he was crunching the ice from his drink with his teeth. It was rather irritating, but she couldn't bear to lose him tonight. He'd been drinking more lately, and she hoped he wouldn't be a total lush when they got to the building. She ran her hand through her hair and settled it on her hip. Wearing slacks took some getting used to, but they'd be climbing through pipes and vents, so a wardrobe change was a necessary evil. The others sat around nervously, and she prayed to God above that the plan would go without a hitch.

She'd been studying the blueprints at the library for months now, and although she knew the ins and outs of the upper floors of headquarters, the basement was a labyrinthine maze of tunnels. But it had been her father's idea, and she thanked the Lord that he'd been so clever. Vossler took his pocket watch from his vest and looked up.

"I believe we have a train to catch."

-----

The uniform was so damned itchy, but he couldn't be all jerky now, could he? He saw the long line of bored-looking folks hired for the evening's activities, and he did his best to blend in. Hopefully the Pinkertons would just let him pass by without identification. It was almost freezing in the November night air, but the service entrance did not have the warm heating lamps like the front entrance where all the glamorous guests were entering.

A loud raucous cheer echoed from the front, and Vaan guessed that Vayne Solidor and his entourage had probably arrived. The guard at the door finally opened it up and beckoned for the group to enter. "Hurry up! Come on, we don't got all night!"

Vaan hurried inside with the others, and another guard kept watch over them in the drafty cavernous hallway. They were at the lobby in the rear of the ground floor and were being herded towards a bank of elevators. Old Dalan had said there would be a door to the basement just off the elevator hall, and he had to hurry before a Pinkerton caught him sneaking off. An older fellow must have noticed his anxiety and gave him a nudge in the ribs.

"What's in the basement?" the man inquired, leading Vaan to nearly jump out of his skin as they continued walking through the Banastre building.

"Huh? Oh, uh…my buddy said they dump their trash down there. I'm hoping there's some good stuff in there. I'll bring you back something if uh…you find a way for me to sneak off." He hoped the other fellow would be greedy enough to go along with it.

The man suddenly collapsed onto the cold marble floor and started convulsing. Vaan leapt back in surprise, but it was clearly a ruse. The Pinkertons hurried over to the man and started to get him up, and the path to the basement door was all clear. He snuck off and opened the door, taking the steps down to the lower level two at a time.

-----

The chilly breeze was messing his hair as the Studebaker President raced through the streets, but they needed to arrive in style and as if they were meant to be there. Fran's gloved hands gripped the wheel tightly as they drove north on Michigan Avenue. He could already see the spotlights ahead flashing in the sky over R.A. Banastre headquarters, and if they pulled this off tonight, he and Fran would be rolling in green.

Fran screeched the Roadster to a halt in the front of the building, and he saw that several of those damned Pinkerton guards were standing watch out in front as the other guests arrived. An eager valet rushed up to the door. He tipped up his fedora and regarded the boy with a smile. "No need, my friend. Just point us to the lot."

The boy seemed surprised that the driver was not only a woman, but was black. But Fran's gorgeous stare seemed to be enough to make the valet nearly piss himself, and the boy pointed around the side of the building. He smirked and handed the boy a twenty-dollar bill. Fran gunned the engine, and they drove to the back of the building. The service entrance was back here, and they parked within twenty feet of the door…their planned escape route.

"Will this work?" Fran asked with an amused grin. She slipped the auto's keys into her handbag, and he shut the passenger door. They'd really outdone themselves all to get in the building, and he had a feeling his fine new pinstriped suit would get mussed in whatever basement crawlspace they'd be invading shortly.

He held out his arm and his tall companion took it casually, her dress billowing slightly in the biting breeze. It had cost several dozen gallons of moonshine, but it was real silk from the Orient, and they had to look legitimate. A Pinkerton bastard gave them the once over at the door, no doubt questioning why a white fellow and a black lady were traveling together…and touching too, for that matter.

"Who are you?" the guard demanded angrily as they sauntered up, and he flashed the man his most winning smile.

"Oh, I hope we're not too late! This is Miss Frannie Grünwort! From the Cotton Club! She's singing after dinner," he remarked, adjusting his cuffs in irritation as if they were expected guests and the man was a dunderhead. Fran quirked an eyebrow at the guard, and since she was nearly a head taller in her high shoes, the man almost seemed to shrink in his boots.

"I…well, nobody told me any singers were coming in this entrance…"

"Now, now. Nobody's supposed to know. It's a surprise for Mr. Solidor. Just ask Mr. Ghis or Mr. Zargabaath. They'll tell you the same," he lied, knowing that his former bosses' names would hold some weight with the moronic guard.

The man held the door open at the mention of Ghis and Zargabaath and waved them in. "You'll find an elevator to the top floors around that bend. You can check in with Mr. Solidor's secretary on the seventeenth floor."

He tipped his hat and escorted Fran through the door. "Very sporting of you, thank you kindly."

As soon as the guard closed the door behind them, Fran pulled their makeshift map from her bosom and eyed it skeptically. The coast was clear, and she pointed to their left. "There. Down the stairs behind that door."

Balthier Bunansa checked the inside of his jacket for his pistol and grinned. He gestured for Fran to go ahead. "Ladies first."


	3. Chapter Two

The basement was rather damp, but there were enough lights on to see and so far there had been no sign of any Pinkertons. Vaan scratched his itchy leg through the stiff fabric and looked at the scrawled map one more time. Why old man B'Nargin had trusted his barber of all people with this kind of information he'd never know, but Vaan knew now that Dalan was not a man to ignore any longer. He trudged down the hallway and frowned at the last door. It was unlocked and only said "Janitor's Office" on the nameplate beside the door frame.

Vaan could tell that the janitor had obviously moved on to a different part of the building since the room was covered in dust. There was a broken table and a few chairs, abandoned mops and buckets and several spider webs. But this was the place, and Dalan had even drawn a big X like on some old treasure map on this very spot. He thought hard, trying to remember what the old man had said. Raminas had hidden them where the Archadians would never think to look.

_"They tore up B'Nargin's office, but they never found them. They tore up his house, no good. The man wasn't dumb," _Dalan had muttered_. "Didn't keep them all in one place. Of course if the banks or his shareholders knew, he'd have been run out of business years ago." _

Vaan grinned as he looked into one corner and saw that one large brick was sticking out just slightly more than the others. Dalan was right. Solidor's goons would never have looked down here. He crouched down and blew away a few cobwebs. The brick was loose and after a few minutes of tugging, he was able to pull it away from the wall. Vaan couldn't see into the hole left behind, so he took a deep breath and stuck his hand inside. It was really dusty and he just knew his hand was getting filthy. He had to stick his arm in nearly to his elbow, but his fingers finally brushed against something like leather. He grasped the item and tugged it back out.

It was a leather bound case with a zipper. He gave the zipper a tug and it opened. His eyes were greeted with some yellowed, but important looking papers. R.A. Banastre, Inc. was printed across the top in fancy typeset, and there were several seals imprinted on each paper. He saw Raminas B'Nargin's signature at the bottom and the words "Certificate of Stock" emblazoned at the bottom. Vaan set the papers to rights and zipped the case back up. Archadia didn't have the real stock certificates. Dalan was right – they had lied. And this meant that what he held in his hands right now was the key to taking them down.

He got to his feet in a rush, but froze in place when he heard the sound of a gun cocking behind him. "Thank you so much for sticking your arm in that wall, kid. I wasn't looking forward to it myself."

Vaan turned around slowly to find two well-dressed people smirking at him. The man was tall with a fancy black suit and a hat. He was pointing the pistol straight at Vaan's heart, and the brim of his hat was tilted so that Vaan couldn't really see his eyes. The woman beside him was more of a surprise. She had dark brown skin but light hair and was nearly a head taller than her companion even accounting for the heeled shoes she wore. She wore a flowing silk gown and carried a piece of paper in one hand and a gun of her own in the other. They looked more like they belonged at some nightclub than in a dank old basement.

They clearly weren't Pinkertons. But he couldn't let them take the papers. "I was here first! They're mine," Vaan argued back, trying to make his voice sound as deep and intimidating as he could.

The man stepped forward and aimed the gun at his face. "Well well, aren't you brave? Fran, go start the car." The woman nodded and lifted her gown, setting the small pistol in a holster strapped to her ankle. She hurried off out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Now it was just him and this strange man in the suit. "Hand them over, kid. I've got places to be."

Vaan held the case tightly against his chest and scowled at the man. The fellow tipped his hat back, and Vaan could see that his eyes were more amused than annoyed. The man was about to speak again when the sound of noisy gunfire pierced the air. Was someone shooting up the party? Was it that Banastre Workers' Union? It must have been several floors up, but Vaan saw his chance. He shoved the man in the suit aside and raced from the room quickly. He was so far from the stairs…would the other guy shoot him before he got out? Vaan could hear screaming and panicking upstairs, so hopefully his escape wouldn't be so noticeable.

He heard racing footsteps behind him. "Stop running!" the man in the fedora demanded loudly, but Vaan kept up his pace. He reached the stairs and bounded up them and crashed through the door as quickly as he could. Dozens of well-dressed people were fleeing the building, and there were Pinkertons rushing around brandishing machine guns. Vaan hurried to the door he'd come in and opened it. The night air was bitterly cold, and he ran to the parking lot. He could still hear the other man chasing him, and he thought there was a fence somewhere around there.

Vaan's lungs were aching, but he couldn't stop now. There was more gunfire and screaming from inside R.A. Banastre, and just as he thought he was at the fence, he was temporarily blinded. There was a bright pair of lights in his vision now, and when his eyes adjusted, he heard a car engine roar and saw that it was the woman in the silk dress behind the wheel. He was trapped in between the car and the man in the suit. "End of the line. You've got something that belongs to me, kid," he heard the man sneer behind him.

"Over there!"

The man in the suit looked around. There were half a dozen Pinkerton agents racing over with their large guns, and Vaan thought his eyes would pop out of his skull. "Damn!" the man shouted in frustration, setting his gun back in a holster inside his jacket. "Fran, let's move!" Vaan felt the wind get knocked out of him as the man raced forward, tossing him over his shoulder and into the car. Fran revved the engine as her companion hopped into the passenger seat, smashing Vaan between them.

"They've got the exit blocked," Fran noted calmly, and her partner swore under his breath. Vaan ducked down, clutching the case as bullets started whizzing past the automobile.

"Options?" the man asked.

Fran gestured ahead. "The fence?" Vaan didn't understand how these two strange people could talk so casually when there were armed guards shooting a ridiculous amount of bullets at their fancy car. The man nodded and held onto his hat as the Studebaker backed up and turned the other way to speed off towards the fence. The fence?! Vaan ducked down as far as he could as he realized that they would be driving through the chain-link fence rather than around it.

The car swerved erratically then, and Vaan heard a loud hiss. The Pinkertons had shot out the tires. Fran cursed noisily in a language Vaan guessed was German, and the man pointed ahead. "Bailing! Over there, block the manhole!" Fran turned the wheel hard and the car spun sideways, coming to a screeching halt at the end of the lot. The man took out his pistol and fired several shots at the Pinkertons as Fran dove out and hid behind the car. She pulled up the manhole cover and gestured for Vaan to get inside.

"In the sewers? You're crazy!" Vaan cried.

The man fired again and turned to look back. "They won't see us get in there. They'll think we climbed the fence, now get your scrawny legs moving!" Vaan did as he was told and began climbing down the ladder into the sewer, the document case tucked under his arm. He heard more gunshots overhead, and then saw Fran's shapely legs above him. The light was shut out then as the man pulled the manhole cover back in place and joined Vaan and his partner in the stinky sewer passageway. They stayed perfectly still for several moments as they heard the Pinkertons above them shoot the car and then hurry off, shouting about the fence. The man laughed when they had departed, knowing their ruse had been successful.

Fran produced a lighter, and some illumination returned. He watched the man load some more bullets in his gun, and then point it back in his face.

"What's the big idea? Come on, I found them first!" Vaan complained angrily. "Who are you guys anyway? Gangsters?"

The man holstered the gun as Fran began walking ahead with the lighter held aloft, her beautiful dress getting filthy already in the damp sewer passageway. The man then took off his suit jacket and tossed it aside in disgust, the sleeve having been torn in his rush to climb down into the sewer. Vaan saw that the man wore a fine cotton shirt, a silk tie and suspenders under his jacket, and he rolled up his sleeves in the now humid air of the sewer. The man gave him a push, and Vaan was forced to walk after Fran.

"Gangsters? I suppose you could say that. I prefer the term 'legitimate businessman' actually. Name's Balthier and the lovely lady you're gaping at is Fran. Never seen a colored woman before, kid?"

Vaan shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I just…"

"Ah, I gotcha. You're just unwise in the way of womankind, period," Balthier teased. "Anyhow, we're a crew now. If my nose is telling the truth, we're a few blocks from the river. And when we get where we're going, you'll kindly hand over those papers."

Vaan stopped and turned around. "Not a chance."

Balthier grabbed him by his collar and stuck his finger in his face. "Listen, you little thief…"

"It's Vaan."

"Vaan. Fran and I just saved your sorry hide from those thugs. The least you could do is pay us back. You'll be handing those papers over, or I'll put a bullet in you myself." Vaan couldn't tell if this strange man was joking or serious since his hat and the low light left most of his face in shadow. "Now get moving."

-----

Lady Luck was clearly not on his side tonight. He'd paid a good amount of money for the information about the stock certificates and apparently someone had tipped off the skinny little kid first. Now he was stuck in the sewers watching Fran's dress get filthy and his shoes get wet in equal measure, and they had a potential squealer on their hands. The kid was a fast runner, Balthier admitted to himself, and he wouldn't be such a bad lookout for the club, but he wasn't budging about the leather case. He didn't want to have to shoot the kid, and the echo of the gunshot would alert anyone to their position. He was stuck. They lost the car, and there was no way he could have his accountant write that one off on their taxes next year. He looked at the cuffs of his trousers and shuddered at the muck that was probably going to build up on them.

Fran halted her advance and held up a hand for quiet. He heard splashing from just around the corner, but it couldn't be a Pinkerton. There was only one person coming, and the footsteps weren't heavy enough. Balthier crept forward and pulled his gun from his holster, holding it out to greet their new visitor. A young woman in a thin blouse and men's trousers came flying around the bend, and she immediately held out a gun of her own.

She was rather pretty with dark blonde hair in a long bob. Balthier struggled not to laugh at the shaky way the girl was pointing the gun at him, and he knew immediately that she didn't know how to use it. There was something familiar about her face, but he couldn't place it.

"Let me through! I'll…I'll shoot you!" the young woman threatened, placing her other hand on the revolver handle to try and mask her shaking. Balthier couldn't help but notice the elaborate diamond ring she wore on her left hand. Very interesting. He put his own gun back and held up his hands.

"Easy now, sweetheart." He walked up to her, and she continued to point the gun. Apparently calling her sweetheart had offended her. "What's a pretty thing like you doing down here?"

"I could ask you the same!" He snickered, and she seemed to regret her unintended implication that he was also a "pretty thing." She took another step forward. "Now let me pass or I'll shoot that hat right off your head!"

He liked her a lot already. He could almost sense Fran's amusement behind him, and he was pretty sure that Vaan was staring the same way he'd stared at Fran earlier. "You look a lot like Joan Bennett. Don't you think she looks like Joan Bennett from the pictures, Fran?"

The young woman glared. "And who are you? Groucho Marx? Just…get out of the way!"

Balthier smiled and suddenly snatched the gun from the young woman's shaking hand. "I'd say Douglas Fairbanks or Laurence Olivier first, but no matter." He tossed the gun to Fran, and the girl stared at him in shock. "Next time you threaten me, take the safety off. I promise I'll be more frightened by you then."

There was silence for a few uncomfortable moments as the young woman looked up at him coldly, but he wouldn't be the first to break. Sensing the awkwardness, Vaan stepped forward tentatively and held out his hand. "I'm Vaan, nice to meet ya. And that's Balthier and Fran…" Balthier rolled his eyes, and Fran continued walking in the direction of the river. He began to follow, and Vaan shouted. "Hey! Where are you going?"

He sighed. "Look, those Pinkertons are going to pinch us easily if we just sit here and play getting to know you, alright? Come on, darling. You're coming with us."

The young woman sneered but began to trudge along with them back the way she had come running. "It's Amy."

"Ah, of course. And you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the ruckus that was going on at the fete, would you Amy?"

The blonde sighed. "I was the lookout. Down here in the sewer. From the sound of it, we've failed." Balthier would swear on a Bible that Amy was not a lookout. He bet that she'd just come from the basement of R.A. Banastre as well and that her gang was a diversion. How many people knew about the stocks in that damned building?

Fran shook her head, her German accent clearly sounding surprising to Amy. "What were you trying to accomplish? You must be those Union people. You think you can waltz into a Pinkerton-guarded building and kill the CEO of Archadia Industries?"

"They're crooks! We needed to show them that the workers of R.A. Banastre won't tolerate their slimy ways!" she replied angrily, and it was at that moment that Balthier realized exactly who she was. His mind raced through all those old society column headlines from a few years back. But it was impossible. That girl killed herself in 1929. It was best to keep this information a secret for now. Might be useful later on, he thought.

Vaan smiled and held up the leather case. "We got one over them now though! I got some stock papers from the basement of the Banastre building!"

Amy's jaw dropped in shock and anger, and his suspicions about her true identity were confirmed. "You stole that?" But Vaan seemed pleased with himself. Balthier could tell the kid had no idea who Amy really was.

"Yup! Just take these papers to the Feds, and they can run Archadia out of our town for good."

Balthier laughed. "You brainless dolt. You think old man B'Nargin kept all the stock in his basement? That's just a chunk of it. And besides, Archadia owns the Feds. You'll need all of the real stock for them to believe you. That's not even half of the original copies." He watched Amy's reaction to all this, and while her face stayed neutral, he could see the pain in her eyes. Vaan held the case back at his side, and Balthier snatched it away.

"I said these are mine, Balthier!" the boy protested, and he handed the case over to Fran.

They reached a sewer grate, and Fran opened it up. She placed the case inside and put the metal grate back up. "There are Pinkertons everywhere. When we get out of the sewers, they'll see that case. We return for it tomorrow," the older woman explained calmly, and Vaan seemed disappointed. Balthier watched Amy's eyes dart about the sewer, and he knew she was trying to memorize the case's location. He wasn't letting this girl out of his sight.

-----

She couldn't believe how horribly wrong it had all gone. She smelled like human waste and now maintained the company of gangsters and a little thief. Granted, her plan that evening had involved robbery and a planned assassination, but it was for the greater good, not for a profit. It seemed like Vayne Solidor's guards had known they'd been plotting something, and she hoped that Vossler and the others had escaped the party relatively unscathed.

Ashe clenched her fists at her sides as she followed the tall black woman and the boy. The hotshot gangster with the fedora brought up the rear, and she just knew that he was eyeing her inappropriately. He'd done nothing but tease her since she'd run into them, and she couldn't wait to get out of this sewer and back to Vossler's place. The only positive thing she had going for her was that her father's stocks had been where she thought, and she tried to keep the image of that sewer grate in mind.

As soon as she got free of these awful people and the Pinkertons gave up the search, she could sneak back and get the case. She tried to go over the plan in her mind again and again, wondering if they should have done things differently. Vossler had been in the Great War, and he wasn't so shoddy at planning these kinds of things, but over ten years at the firm had obviously softened him. They'd played right into the Pinkertons' hands. She frowned. They'd all gone up to the party, giving her time to go into the basement and find the papers, and she'd failed at that one thing. She must have been walking a bit too fast for this Balthier's thinking, and he cleared his throat behind her.

"Got somewhere to be, princess?"

She slowed down and fell into step beside the smarmy fellow. "Don't call me that. In fact, don't call me anything. Just…leave me be."

He smiled broadly, and she hated that he was so devilishly handsome. If he was ugly, it would be far easier to loathe him. "Sorry, princess," he replied, ignoring her explicit demand. "It's not every day I find a pretty lady in trousers running around in the sewers like a chicken with its head cut off."

She snorted. He had no idea what she'd been through tonight. Or for the past two years. Losing Rasler in that accident that was no accident. Moving from safe house to safe house. No friends but Vossler and his friends, and even then, only Vossler knew who she really was.

Ashe had never expected Vossler Azelas to come to her rescue that night. He'd just been one of her father's lawyers, but after the horrible murders at the office, he'd come to their house in Lincoln Park and pulled her from her bedroom in the dead of night. The Solidors had put a hit on her. Ashe knew it had been because of her father's will. By all rights, R.A. Banastre was hers. Unless she was dead.

"It's not every day I run into a Capone wannabe, so I suppose today has something exciting for us all," she retorted coldly, and instead of being offended, he smiled that damn smile again.

"You're fun, Amy. I like you. You've got spirit." He dared to put his arm around her shoulders, and she immediately shrugged him off.

"Don't touch me."

He kept his hands to himself, but his voice was still as smug as it had been from the start. "You'll make someone a very lucky man someday. Oh wait, I suppose you already do, seeing that huge rock on your hand there."

She bit her lip and stuffed her hand in her pocket. "Family heirloom."

"Ah, I see."

He was incredibly suspicious, and she could feel her heart racing. There was no way he could recognize her? Sure, her picture had been in the papers a few years back, but he was just a silly crook. Balthier snapped his suspenders a few times absentmindedly, and she found herself drawn to his long, thin fingers and the way his sideburns curved down the side of his face. His eyes were nearly in shadow beneath his fedora. "Do you like flying, Amy?"

She was startled and nearly leapt in the air at his question. Why was she letting him get to her? She didn't even know this man! "What do you mean?" Ashe asked quietly.

"Exactly what I mean. Do you like to fly? In airplanes and things."

She remembered the last flight she'd been on. A chartered flight to Atlantic City for Rasler's funeral. They'd only been engaged for a month. The official story was that Rasler's father, the chairman of Nabudis Chemicals had been heavily intoxicated. But Ashe knew it wasn't the truth. Vayne Solidor's Pinkerton dogs had run them off the road.

"No," she responded sadly. "I can't say I like to fly that much."

"Greatest feeling in the world," Balthier continued, seemingly not noticing or caring to notice that his line of discussion was upsetting her. "Got my own plane, you know. Let's say you come back here with me and Fran tomorrow for that case, and then we fly over the lake after dinner at the Berghoff, just you and me?"

She stared straight ahead and saw Fran shaking her head in seeming amusement. Clearly Balthier fancied himself a man about town. Ashe found him a bit too forward, and she eagerly hoped she could get out of the sewers and away from his attentions as soon as possible.

They rounded a corner, and Ashe had no more time to ponder her escape from Balthier and his companions. Several pistols and larger guns were now pointing at the four of them, a large group of Pinkerton agents laying in wait for them. She wished she still had the gun Vossler had given her for protection.

The crowd of agents parted, and Ashe could feel her blood boiling. A man with black, neatly coiffed hair and wearing a tuxedo strolled up to stand in the middle of the Pinkertons. She tried to lunge forward to slap the man who'd announced her suicide, but Balthier seemed to sense what she was about to do, and he grasped her wrist tightly. "Now's not the time," he muttered quietly, and she grumbled. He didn't seem to trust her, and his fingers remained tightly clenched around her wrist.

Vayne Solidor's hideous laughter echoed off the sewer walls. "My goodness, what a crew!" he murmured, making eye contact with each of them. When he met her eyes, he smiled wide enough to bare his teeth. "Arrest them."


	4. Chapter Three

Thank God they'd stashed the papers. But even with that, Balthier had a suspicion that he might not be in town for too much longer. The Pinkertons had taken the guns and cuffed all four of them, and now they were being marched back to R.A. Banastre headquarters. He could already see a crowd gathered and a swarm of reporters anxiously writing notes and flashing cameras. Balthier hoped that Nono had things under control at the club. He'd been in a spot of trouble before, but he'd never been in the slammer for more than a night with the contacts he had. But this time it was different. This time he wouldn't be going to a real jail. Some of his pals had been carted off and never seen again. Archadia would torture them for information. And then they were going to be erased.

Amy was marching beside him, and she seemed more livid than worried. He figured that Vayne had a bit of business to discuss with her in case the papers actually figured out who she was. It would be a real darn shame if the Solidors murdered her for real this time. The girl had real spark. As they approached the crowd, the flashes increased and the guards stepped in front of Amy to block her. But this gave the girl a chance to reach out and grab his cuffed hands.

He opened his mouth to make a witty remark, but she gave him a stern look. He felt her slip a business card into his hands, and he did his best to nudge it up his sleeve. What could it be? When he looked up, she was already being pulled away into a dark automobile with Solidor. "They've done nothing wrong, let them go!" he listened to her plead. But the door was slammed shut by one of the Pinkertons, and the car squealed away.

This left the three of them surrounded by the beefy thugs. Vaan continued to exhibit his penchant for stupidity. "Hey, you heard her! Let us go!" The guard nearest to the boy smacked him in the head hard, and Balthier was startled by a loud scream from the crowd.

A short girl with blonde plaits and a kind face snuck under the police barricade and ran forward at the Pinkertons. "Leave him alone!" She looked about Vaan's age, and if Balthier knew the Pinkertons, they weren't afraid to shoot young girls. He sighed and moved up to block the girl's path.

He managed to wrangle his handkerchief out of his pocket and held it up to her with his cuffed hands. "Hold on to this for me, won't you, sweetheart?" The girl nearly collided with him, and she stared at him in confusion. But he saw the blush rise in her cheeks at the word "sweetheart," and he grinned inwardly. Maybe Amy was just a tougher nut to crack in the flattery department.

The girl grabbed the handkerchief, and he gave her a big smile. "Thanks. I'll be coming back for it just as soon as I return with your friend," he explained gently, gesturing with his head to the stupid boy. The girl seemed to buy it. Luckily enough he had a dozen more handkerchiefs just like it. If there was any justice in the world, they'd take Vaan somewhere else and let him and Fran get murdered in peace.

The girl looked about ready to cry, and she stared past him at Vaan in anguish. "How could you, Vaan?"

Vaan looked slightly remorseful. "I'm sorry, Penny." The girl clung to the handkerchief as she was pulled back by a few policemen, and Balthier was shoved along. A paddy wagon was waiting to take them off in the guise of a real arrest, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't be spending the night in the Cook County Jail. Fran turned back to give him a sad look, and he returned it wholeheartedly. Not enough time to call his lawyer either. He saw Vaan struggle a bit and the Pinkerton knocked him out soundly. It took all his will power not to laugh. He cooperated and was rewarded with consciousness. But that didn't stop the guards from putting canvas sacks over their heads. Wherever they were going, they wouldn't have the privilege of finding out where it was.

-----

**November 24, 1931**

**City Still Shaken by R.A. Banastre Ruckus; Solidor Infuriates Workers**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

Although members of the Banastre Workers' Union were caught after the attacks, Vayne Solidor is keeping mum on their whereabouts. There was no record of any of these insurgent workers being processed at police headquarters or at the county jail. The city is still reeling from the massive shootout at the top of the Banastre building that left three dead and eight wounded. In response to the attacks, Archadia Industries has stepped up their security forces in the city. Archadia may need to hire even more Pinkerton detectives if the latest word from the top is to be believed. Sources close to Solidor's office report that he will be making a bold announcement today. He will allegedly be laying off hundreds of R.A. Banastre workers and more specifically, he will be releasing those who are members of the workers' union without severance pay. Union member and Banastre employee Peter Tomaj spoke with the _Tribune_.

"They must be kidding. We already took a pay cut, and now no severance? All the money at the top is getting funneled to some projects out in New York, and the little guy here in Chicago is getting the run around," Tomaj said.

The key project, the one coded 'Bahamut' was supposed to be the highlight of the other night's activities, but the BWU uprising came just before the announcement. Solidor's office has now refused to disclose details about the Bahamut project, and it appears that security in Chicago is of a higher concern for Archadia at this time. As for Vayne Solidor himself, he remains in Chicago surrounded by Pinkerton detectives at all times.

-----

_Graceland Cemetery was a beautiful place. But it was raining that day, sheets and sheets of rain like solid walls. Even with Rex's steady income, an umbrella was a luxury. Looking around, he saw the grand tombs of so many other people. Daniel Burnham on that island, the giant columns where the Palmers rested, and the Getty tomb with the big bronze doors. His brother didn't get anything fancy. Miguel had paid for a simple stone, and he couldn't look away as the simple casket was lowered into the ground. His brother was gone. He slowly approached the grave and peered down, knowing that Rex was in that box. The lilies in his hands shook, and he let them fall._

His head was killing him.

The floor was hard and cold beneath him, and he slowly opened his eyes. There was a faint amount of sunlight on the floor in front of him, and he heard a familiar voice.

"Ah, about time you came around."

Vaan pulled himself to his feet, rubbing a bump on the side of his head. Maybe he should have been a bit more cooperative with the Pinkertons. He found himself in a small room with stained walls. There was a dirty window letting in the sun, and a metal toilet in the corner. Turning to the side, he found Balthier sitting with his back against the wall and his knees bent. He had his fedora perched on one of his knees. They were both still in the same clothes from the other night, and the gangster was tapping a small card against his palm.

Moving to the window, Vaan peered out and frowned. As far as he could see, there were empty fields, the crops having been cut down already for the year. How far were they from Chicago? "Where are we?" he asked.

Balthier snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "No idea. You were out, but they drove in circles for hours. Couldn't make heads or tails of it. My guess is somewhere in Wisconsin? Just a guess, mind you."

Wisconsin? Another darn state? He thumped his fist against the filthy glass and sighed loudly. "How are we going to get back?"

The card tapping continued, and if Vaan didn't know any better, he'd say that Balthier was acting rather nervous. "Well, Fran's working on that right now. But go on out there and see for yourself. This isn't like one of those prisons you see in the moving pictures."

Vaan gulped and moved to the door. He and Balthier were in one room among dozens in a hallway that almost smelled worse than the Chicago sewers had been. He could hear babies crying and people moaning. Archadia must have been maintaining this building, wherever it was, as a place to toss people away that stood up to them. He spied a staircase at the end of the hall and turned back to look at his companion. "Do they have any food out there?"

The other man shrugged. "How should I know? I've been sitting here for over a day, and all I got was a lousy cup of water and a rotten biscuit. You were better off getting to sleep through that indignity."

He went into the hall and the smell was enough to make him queasy. As he crept past the other doors, he saw a mother holding a child in her lap in one room and a pair of kids no older than Kytes shooting marbles in another. He walked down the stairs and moved into a more open area. Dozens of people sat against the wall or lay down on the floor, and Vaan could tell by their pale features and thin limbs that they'd been in this place for a long time. A man who was probably close to Balthier's age collided with him then and clung to his sleeve.

"Please! Please! You've gotta help me!" the man cried, and Vaan turned around to see a few beefier guys were chasing him. He had little time to even react as the man hurried away in frustration and the other fellows bounded after him. They caught the man quickly and ganged up on him. It was sickening. Nobody else in the entire place was trying to defend him.

"Hey, stop!" he shouted, but the thugs knocked the poor guy out. And unfortunately for him, the thugs turned around. The others in the room still kept to themselves, and Vaan knew he was in a spot of trouble yet again.

The largest of the group pounded his fist into his palm. "What's that, pipsqueak? You the public defender around here?" They all started to back him towards a wall, and the big fellow chortled noisily. "My gang runs this place when Mr. G ain't around, so you've just made a big mistake!"

His back was firmly against the wall by now, and he had little time to figure out who Mr. G was when he heard knuckles cracking loudly from behind the thugs. "It appears I've discovered what that nasty smell is." Vaan tilted his head to see Balthier grinning widely behind them. Three against one would have been tough, but at least the gangster had evened out the playing field a bit. The three bullies split their attention between him and Balthier, and the leader spat on the ground.

"You're sticking your nose where it don't belong, college boy."

Balthier seemed amused by this attempt at an insult, and Vaan watched him stick his thumbs under his suspenders and pull them down to his hips. "My nose had little choice in the matter. You smell like a couple of rotten ham shanks." The gangster spat dramatically in mockery of the bully and beckoned them forward with his hand. "Ready Vaan?"

Vaan had no time to answer as the first punch from one of the thugs hit him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees. He heard a punch connect a few feet away, and he hoped that the fist had belonged to Balthier. Vaan wished that he'd listened more closely to broadcasts of Jack Dempsey's fights when he was younger, but for now, he'd have to improvise. He rose to his feet shakily and knocked the man in the gut with his elbow. The pain stung, but the man had the wind knocked out of him, and Vaan gave him a kick in the leg. He could see Balthier dodge one punch from the largest guy, but the other fellow connected a solid blow to the gangster's face.

Balthier was shaken, but not down, wiping blood away from his nose in irritation. Vaan hurried over to help him, the third man trudging after him slowly. He heard some noisy shoes clacking against the floor and barely got out of the way fast enough as he saw a shapely foot in a heeled shoe stamp on the side of one bully's leg. The man cried out in pain and fell to the floor in agony, and Vaan looked up to see a triumphant Fran. Her fancy dress was still dirty, but she moved fluidly in her high shoes. He wondered where on Earth she'd come from and whether Balthier knew how lucky he was to have her as a friend.

"Kneecaps!" she shouted to him in her clipped accent, and Vaan did as he was told. It was fighting dirty, but it was fine by him at this point. He did his best to imitate Fran's move and a second thug was down. Balthier wiped his nose once more and gave the last fellow a hard punch in the jaw, knocking him to the ground with a harsh thud.

Fran rolled her eyes and handed him a handkerchief from inside her dress. He gave her a smile and held the cloth against his nose. "That was cheating, Fran. They teach you to fight dirty in the old country?"

"It's saved your sorry Endstück more times than you can count by now," she remarked icily, and Balthier held up his hands in surrender. Vaan stepped around the thugs, who were moaning quietly on the ground, and joined his companions. Fran looked between them. "You'll both be interested in what I found…or who I found, rather."

The tall woman did not get a chance to explain as there was a noisy commotion in the hallway. Vaan heard the word "Pinkerton" whispered amongst the people in the room, and Balthier shook his head. The gangster grabbed him by the arm and started tugging him. Fran led them away from the scene of the fight and into one of the small supply rooms off of the big room in the center. They kept the door slightly ajar to watch. They weren't Pinkertons, at least Vaan didn't think so.

A man with a massive overbite and oiled hair snarled at the people in the room, and his two companions were equally hideous. Vaan heard Balthier sigh behind him, and Fran swore under her breath. "I hope you found a way out, Fran. It's getting a mite crowded in this place," Balthier muttered quietly.

The oily fellow prodded the main thug with his boot. "He's here! He's here, and you're three times his size! Where is Balthier?" Vaan nearly gasped in surprise. Who was this guy? It appeared that Balthier had more enemies than friends in the world.

The largest thug moaned and sat up. "I don't know. He had others with him. Mr. G didn't say you were coming..."

"The lot of you are incompetent!" The man pulled a pistol from a holster at his side. "Maybe I should do to you what I want to do to that playboy!"

"That's enough Bagamnan!"

Vaan could barely keep from biting his nails. A Pinkerton agent marched in angrily, a large tommy gun in his arms. Several other agents walked behind him and were equally armed and menacing. Unlike the usual Pinkerton uniform, this man wore a fine suit, and Vaan couldn't ignore the man's wicked sneer. "Noah Gabranth," Balthier whispered. "Solidor's one man police force around these parts. Probably come to eliminate some of Archadia's most unwanted, namely you and me, kid."

So this was Mr. G. He had short blond hair and a strong jaw. Vaan knew his name from the papers, but the man was rarely photographed. Something about this man's face seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Fran smirked. "I don't think that's why he's here."

Gabranth kept the gun on the oily Bagamnan fellow. "You know you and your crew aren't allowed in here. We got Capone out of the way, and this is how you enjoy your freedom? You can't be exacting personal vendettas out here when Mr. Solidor so generously writes your checks."

"I knew that bastard was on his payroll," Balthier grumbled, and Vaan struggled to put it all together. Bagamnan was one of Balthier's rivals, but he was bankrolled by Archadia? It was still fuzzy, and the gangster filled in the blanks. "Had it out for me since I won my club in that poker game. Now he thinks he's the head honcho in town. Can't even make good gin, the moron."

Bagamnan stared for a good long time at the Pinkerton machine guns and raised his hands in frustration. "You tell me to take out the trash, and here I am doing that very thing for Mr. Solidor. You better watch your back, Gabranth." He snapped his fingers, and his two fellow gangsters followed him away. For his part, Gabranth rolled his eyes in irritation. It seemed to be a very shaky alliance and one that this Mr. G. didn't seem to agree with.

Gabranth lowered his gun at the gangsters' departure and waved for the other Pinkertons to follow. "Has he come up with anything?"

One of the other Pinkertons shrugged. "Not since last week. He was right on about that chemical, at least that's what word from the top says. But he could be lying. He's got nothing to lose."

They moved off down the hall, and Balthier pulled Vaan into the hallway to sneak along after them. He was able to hear snippets of the Pinkertons' conversation ahead of them.

"…remarkable that she showed her face again. What's Vayne gonna do?"

Gabranth shrugged. "Not my concern. I'd just as soon kill her and make sure it's done right this time, but they gave her to Ghis." Who were they talking about? Was it Amy? Why wasn't she here with them?

The group of Pinkertons reached the end of a long corridor, and Fran tugged him into the shadows. From there, they could see Gabranth and his crew enter a room with stacks of books and papers. There was a desk in the back, and Vaan couldn't really make the person out, but there seemed to be a man sitting there with a long blond beard. Vaan could see a set of shackles binding the man's leg, and he was hunched over a stack of papers.

Gabranth knocked over a pile of books and laughed. "Look at this madness. You're useless. I don't even see why we keep you alive, brother." Vaan noticed that the two men shared the same hair color and physical size, but why would Mr. G. keep his brother locked up? The man at the table looked up from the papers, and just as Vaan was squinting at him, Noah Gabranth spoke again. And Vaan felt his blood run cold in his veins. It was impossible.

Gabranth snatched the papers away and glanced at them. He looked down at the other man and snorted. "You're getting rather thin. Aren't we feeding you enough for your services, Basch?"

The former Vice President of Research and Development at R.A. Banastre, Inc. frowned, and Vaan could now see the face of the man who murdered his brother.


	5. Chapter Four

For two years, Chicago thought the man had been on the run. Balthier remembered the R.A. Banastre shootout story as much as anyone else. Basch Ronsenburg – the war veteran, chemical engineer, big time researcher at Banastre. And he'd just snapped when the old man sold the company. Shot up the man's office and took off, leaving Archadia to sort out the mess. But here he was, looking a bit worse for wear in a tattered dress shirt and a worn pair of trousers. He desperately needed a shave and a haircut, and Balthier thanked his lucky stars he wasn't chained to a wall like this fellow.

The kid seemed to be fuming for some reason, and Fran was noticeably keeping him back. Mr. Gabranth was looking at Ronsenburg with a measure of loathing, and despite the fellow's shaggy appearance, Balthier could definitely tell they were brothers. "The results are back from New York, Basch. Wrong type of acid, I'm afraid."

Basch looked back down at the table and sighed. "You know I need better materials, Noah…"

"You'll address me as Mr. Gabranth, you filthy dog." The man kicked the table hard, shaking Basch's resting elbows. "And it's not a matter of materials. You know the formula. You think you're buying time, but you're just going to get yourself killed. Perhaps I could provide your addled mind with some motivation to remember the ingredients." Gabranth leaned forward and got in Basch's face. "We found her."

Balthier had to concentrate very hard to listen, but he caught Basch's calm response. "Found who?"

"A young lady of some interest to you, I should think. The name Amy ring any bells for you?" Balthier watched Basch's face fall. "I'd hate to have to break her pretty little fingers to see how much she knew about Daddy's plans."

Basch's hands gripped the table tightly. "She doesn't know anything."

Gabranth laughed. "Well, she was running around under the building the other night, so she might know more than you think, Basch." The Pinkerton straightened his tie and moved to exit the room. "She's a looker, that Amy. Work a bit harder on that formula this week, or I'll have to mess up her pretty face." Gabranth and his crew departed, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. Balthier watched Basch put his head in his hands, and he wondered if the broken man in front of them had really killed old man B'Nargin.

-----

_"Why Basch? Why do you need to enlist?"_

_He added his last textbook to the box and shoved it in the closet. "Because it is the right thing to do."_

_"Is it? We need you here. Mother needs you here."_

_Basch looked to his brother and sighed. "My country needs me too."_

_Noah sat down on the bed heavily. "Listen to you, Basch. You've got a year left and you're just going to up and die in some trench on the other side of the world?" _

_"I can finish my degree when I get home. It's not like the periodic table's going to change in my absence." He shut the closet door and leaned back against it. "You know Ma can barely pay my tuition, and what am I doing to help her? I'll send back every check from the army…" _

_His brother stood up and moved to the door. "Money doesn't matter. She doesn't want you to go. I can work two jobs! There's not much going on at the store right now, and they're supposed to be hiring security guards at that lab they just opened on Landis Street…"_

_"You do what you think you need to do. As for me, I'm going to fight, Noah."_

_Noah scowled at him. "If you die, I'll never forgive you." Basch watched his brother hurry out, slamming the door behind him. He looked around his room and frowned, wondering if he'd ever see it again. _

As he watched his brother depart, Basch realized that he was running out of ideas. His mind was struggling to come up with fake ingredients and suggestions to send off to New York. And now Ashelia had turned up. Could Vossler have been so stupid to let her out of his sight? He wondered if Ashe herself had decided to look for her father's files. She'd always been a shrewd young woman. His eyes were tired from going over the equations again and again, but knowing that Archadia had Raminas' daughter was enough to motivate him. He'd have to cough up one of the components, or they'd surely kill her.

He picked up the pencil to get back to work when he heard footsteps in the hallway. The passageway was dark, and he couldn't see anyone. "Who's there? What do you want?" A mischievous looking man in a rumpled dress shirt and black slacks entered, his nose slightly bloodied. He was accompanied by a tall black woman with long hair who wore a tattered dress. And then a teenager in a busboy's uniform pushed past the other two and started shaking him.

"You killed my brother! You let Archadia come in and ruin Chicago! It's all your fault!" the boy shouted noisily, and the better-dressed man pulled the kid off of him.

"Will you pipe down? The Pinkertons will hear and you know they'll come back. So can it!"

The boy said he had killed his brother? He hadn't killed anyone, not that anyone would believe him. But he looked up in the kid's angry face and recognized the nose, the jaw…this boy had been Rex's brother. "That was not how it happened," he began to explain as calmly as he could, but the woman had to latch onto the young man's arm to hold him back.

The dapper fellow rolled his eyes. "Kid's a bit of a loose cannon. Look, we don't have time for this. Do you know a way out of here?"

It was his last resort. The way had been clear for nearly a year now, but he'd never gone for it. But now that Ashelia had been kidnapped…

"The toilet."

"We're taking the advice of this guy? He killed Rex!" the boy complained, but the fellow with the bloody face moved over to the wall and examined the metal toilet. The man smiled widely as he pulled the toilet away from the wall, revealing the hole Basch had created.

"How did you manage this?" the man asked in awe.

"I've been here for two years. I can't crunch numbers and chart chemical reactions in my head all day," he responded, surprised at the lightness of his voice. He'd chipped at the wall a bit every day, just for something to do.

"And they never figured it out? Well, I suppose they don't move a man's toilet." He stood up and looked to his female companion. "Undo the cuff, we can take him along."

Basch shook his head. "No, you can't. You must have heard Gabranth. They'll hurt my friend if I'm not here to cooperate. And besides, I'm sure I'm on every wanted list out there…"

The man smiled and handed him a small card. "We know your friend. And my guess is that this means something to you?" Basch examined the card and was surprised to see that it was a business card for Vossler's law office in the Loop.

_He wondered if the Somme River valley had ever been beautiful. His boots trampled the soil each day, and he littered the ground with bullet casings. The Brits they fought with taunted them day and night, teasing the Americans for coming so late. Doughboy, they'd called him. But despite that, he felt like he was doing something good. Something meaningful. They were done for the day, and Basch felt an exhaustion he'd never known before. He leaned his back against the tightly packed soil of the trench and munched on his rations. _

_He heard the sound of boots squelching in the mud, and he looked up to see his friend. "Letter for ya, Ronsenburg." Vossler handed it over and sat down beside him with a loud sigh. "One of these days you'll have to tell your ma to write me one. My parents never send me anything." _

_Basch grinned and tucked the letter inside his jacket. It would probably hurt his friend's feelings if he read the letter in front of him. Vossler took out a cigarette and lit it. "So what are you planning to do when you get that degree? Me, I'm gonna open my own firm someday. Law school's pretty crazy, but I'd write out a thousand briefs to get out of this god-forsaken mud hole." Basch's friend went to the University of Chicago and spent most of his time rambling on about torts and statutes and things Basch didn't quite understand._

_He shrugged and scraped the bottom of the tin for the rest of his dinner. "I don't know yet. Chemical engineering gives me a lot of choices. I could work at a lab, stay in school and get an advanced degree, teach…I haven't decided." _

_"Well, don't go to law school," Vossler joked. "You're too smart for that, Basch." His friend put out his cigarette in Basch's empty ration tin. "We're playing poker over in the lieutenant's tent. You want in?" _

_Basch shook his head. "No, not tonight. I think the lieutenant cheats." Vossler chuckled and said good night. He reached back in his jacket and finally took a look at the letter. He was surprised to see not his mother's flowery handwriting, but the terse block lettering of his brother. Basch sliced the envelope open and found that Noah had only left him a brief message. _

_Mom's dead._

The fellow cleared his throat, jarring Basch from his reminiscences. "She slipped me that card the other night. So come with us." Gabranth only came once a week. If they got the door jammed shut, nobody would notice him gone.

"Lock the door. They can't know I've escaped." The man in suspenders nodded and gestured for the woman to take care of it. For his part, the man took a small pin from inside the brim of his hat and knelt down to undo the lock on his shackles. "You know who I am. Am I allowed to know the names of my…rescuers?"

The young man still looked at him angrily. "Vaan," he said coldly. The woman spoke in a German accent, and Basch was very curious as to her association with the two men. The man picking the lock on his shackles introduced himself as Balthier. Fran moved through the hole behind the toilet, dragging the kid behind her. Balthier popped open the cuff and Basch stood up, his back and legs sore. He took one final look around the room he'd been kept in for nearly two years and sighed.

"Thank you," he mumbled to Balthier quietly. Basch followed Fran and Vaan, and Balthier brought up the rear, pulling the toilet back to the wall. They were left in a dark passageway that was only a few feet high with metal grated floors.

"Do you know where this passage leads?" Fran inquired softly as they crept along, hunched over.

He shook his head. "I never went in here, to be honest with you. It was kind of the eternal backup plan, escaping this way." His companions nodded, seeming grateful to at least be away from the rest of the place for a while. Basch moved along behind the boy, and he could see the tension radiating from him.

"What about all those people? We're just going to run off and leave them there? They were keeping babies and their mothers locked up," the kid mumbled.

Balthier spoke from behind them. "Let's save ourselves first, alright? We can report the place when we find a town…speaking of towns, any idea if one's close by?"

Basch was grateful that he actually had an answer to this question. "We're about five miles to Kenosha from here. Not sure in which direction exactly, but I heard whisperings among the Pinkertons. But we're not so very far from civilization."

"Good to know. We all could use a change of clothes…"

"Is that really the first thing on your mind?" Fran teased. "Food, water and shelter ranking a bit lower in your estimations?"

Balthier chuckled. "You know, Fran. Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all." The pair of them continued to bicker cheerfully back and forth, and Basch merely followed them. He didn't have much to joke about. Surely someone would recognize him when he was on the outside. And what would happen to Ashelia when Noah discovered him missing? Would they sink so low as to kill an innocent girl? They'd declared her dead before, but Basch knew Vossler had escaped with her unscathed.

_The first thing he noticed when he got back to Brooklyn was the smell. Landis Street had changed remarkably in a year. None of the kids played ball in the streets, and there was a choking haze in the air. Looming at the end of the block was the giant Archadia Industries' lab. Smokestacks were letting off dark plumes, and that was when Basch noticed the lab wasn't at the end of the block…it was the entire block. It had been built up considerably in his absence. The field where he and Noah played as kids was now a dark, sooty research building. _

_Noah wouldn't talk to him for the first few months. His brother worked three jobs, and he went in and out of the house without so much as a word to Basch. For his part, he got back into his studies and finished up his degree by the end of 1920. He found odd jobs around town in different labs, but he knew that Archadia Industries had destroyed Landis Street. He could never work for them. New York was changing. By the time a few years had passed, Basch was ready to leave. A letter came one day from a friend he hadn't spoken to in years. _

_Noah was livid when Basch told him his idea. "Chicago? Why are you leaving Brooklyn? Mom died and gave us this house, and you just spit on her grave with this Chicago business!"_

_Basch looked across the kitchen table and took a bite of his supper. "Vossler says it's better pay, and this outfit's hiring chemical engineers. I'll get to do my own research instead of cleaning out test tubes all day. It's a step up. It could be a step up for both of us if you come with me, Noah." _

_His brother knocked back his chair and brought his plate to the sink. "You just run away. Every time, Basch. You run. You have no loyalty to Landis Street, do you? There's nothing for me in Chicago. I don't have a fancy degree like you. There's no 'step up' for guys like me."_

_"Noah, can't you see what Archadia Industries has done to Landis Street? There's no such thing as Landis Street now…" _

_"Just go, alright? Go to Chicago. Make your fortune with your beakers and your chemicals." Basch felt like it was 1918 all over again. He got up from the table in silence and went up to his room. He'd buy the first ticket out of Brooklyn the next morning._

They could finally smell fresh air, and within twenty minutes, they came to a grate that hovered over a small retention pond. Balthier kicked out the grate and was the first in the water and then the first to complain about it. For his part, Basch appreciated this makeshift bath. The water in the Archadia facility was fetid. They climbed out of the water and saw that they were several hundred feet away from the large building. There was a road in the distance, and they set off for it. The air was bitterly cold, and their wet clothes clung to them. Their surroundings didn't help. It was all fields that had been harvested without any trees to absorb the force of the wind.

"We make for Kenosha then, and by God I hope it's this way," Balthier muttered, his teeth chattering. "I can have my associate wire us some money to get back." There were no automobiles along the road, and the walk seemed more like a march of defeated soldiers. Balthier and Fran walked on ahead, and Vaan hung back, his arms crossed.

"You should leave. You helped us get out, sure, but you still killed Rex. I don't want anything to do with you," the boy spat at him.

He sighed. "I did not kill him. I swear that things did not happen that way. You saw that man Gabranth back there. He is my brother." The words came pouring out, and Vaan's face was perfectly neutral as Basch explained what had happened. He'd replayed these moments in his mind so often that he did not even pay attention to the words, instead letting his mind drift to other memories.

_"You asked to see me, sir?" he inquired nervously, feeling very small and insignificant in the enormous CEO's office. There was a startlingly beautiful view of the lake behind the mahogany desk, and the shelves were full of books on business and chemistry, and Basch heard that the old man kept a small collection of books about Egypt for his own personal use._

_Raminas B'Nargin turned away from the windows and grinned broadly. "Ronsenburg! Splendid, good to see you. Have a seat." Basch moved to the large desk and sat down in the big cozy chair across from his employer. He'd been at R.A. Banastre for two years now, and until that very moment, he'd only spoken to the company chairman in passing once or twice. He was surprised the old man even knew his name._

_Raminas poured himself some whiskey and sat down in his grand leather chair. "You're the best man I've got, Ronsenburg. I've got a job for you." The flattery was sincere, and Basch had no idea the old man considered him such a valuable employee. "I'm making you VP of R & D, effective immediately." _

_He had never felt so overwhelmed. "Thank you, sir! It's an honor to work for you, sir."_

_B'Nargin smiled and sipped his drink. "We'll work out the details over the next few weeks. But I have a question for you, Basch." _

_"Anything, sir."_

_"How much do you know about Byzantine warfare?"_

_The question came out of left field and left him speechless. He knew B'Nargin was a history buff, but what did the Byzantine Empire have to do with his promotion? "Sir?"_

_"Greek fire, Basch," the man said cheerily, scratching his whiskers. "Greek fire. Totally unstable, but the stuff was quite the weapon in those days. Hurled it from a catapult at a besieging army or enemy ships. They say the stuff could even burn in the water." _

_He was confused. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Mr. B'Nargin."_

_The old man smiled broadly and took another swig of whiskey. "You will in time, son."_

They were already on the outskirts of Kenosha by that time, and Balthier and Fran went into a Western Union branch to have money wired north. That left him alone with the kid on the front steps of the place.

"So the whole thing that night was a set-up by Archadia Industries?" Vaan asked, and Basch felt that the boy finally believed him. He felt no less guilty that his brother had impersonated him that night, but perhaps now he could work to take Vayne Solidor down. "So um, why didn't they kill you? They said the whole board of directors got wiped out…"

He sighed in exhaustion, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "I was apparently more useful alive. For what I know, the projects I did for R.A. Banastre, that sort of thing."

Vaan shook his head. "They ruined your life, and they took my brother's away."

"Yes," Basch replied, knowing there was nothing else he could say.

-----

The next day found them on a train heading south for Chicago. Despite Balthier's protests, they'd spent the money his associate wired on a room for the night and a hot meal. The younger fellow had moaned the whole time about the present state of his wardrobe, but he'd caved in eventually. Basch felt he'd last another day in his clothes, but the gangster had grumbled about his appearance enough to actually buy him a shave and a haircut. Though his clothes were old, he felt a great weight lifted without the heavy beard he'd grown in the lock-up.

The time passed slowly, and Basch felt a tightness in his chest when he saw the familiar buildings of the city. He never thought seeing Chicago again would be such an emotional experience, but the crystal blue waters of the lake and the houses along the north shore brought him back to what he'd felt was a simpler time. They were almost to Union Station when Vaan gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow.

"I found something that can help bring them down."

"What is that?" Basch asked.

Balthier's voice pierced the air sharply, and Basch looked up to see the man peering into their compartment, his elbow against the doorframe. Fran stood behind him. "What he means is that _I_ am currently in the possession of some important R.A. Banastre documents." Vaan frowned, and Balthier walked into the compartment proudly. "Stocks. The originals, mind you."

He nearly gave himself whiplash as he heard Balthier's words. "What was that? Where did you find them?"

"In the basement at R.A. Banastre. Isn't that strange?" Vaan asked.

_The mood in the labs was one of utter panic. B'Nargin's office was a mess when he arrived, stock ticker tape littering the floor in piles. He was shoving a stack of papers into a leather case. "Basch, thank God." _

_"What's going on, sir?"_

_He'd never seen the unflappable Raminas B'Nargin in a state of panic before. "They're coming tonight, Basch. I don't see this ending well." Raminas took a key from a chain around his neck and tossed it into the case and zipped it up. "Azelas is going to get Ashie out of town on the Greyhound. I've got one last thing for you to do." _

_Vayne Solidor and his lawyers were coming to make things official that night for the buyout, but Raminas seemed to fear for his life. "Did they threaten your daughter, sir?" _

_Raminas looked upset. "Not yet, but you know what happened to Heios and his kid. I can't let that happen to my Ashie." The old man shoved the leather case in his arms. "You know the spot in the basement. Everything else is scattered. By all accounts I should shred the damn things, but…" _

_Basch shook his head. Raminas had been working on this for nearly a decade now. "I understand, Mr. B'Nargin." He tucked the case under his arm and moved to the door. _

_"Basch?"_

_"Sir?"_

_"You've been like a son to me. I can't begin to thank you for all the hard work you've done." The man was nearly in tears, and Basch knew that he wasn't just upset about R.A. Banastre coming under new leadership. "We can't let those bastards have it." He nodded and departed the CEO's office and took the elevator to the basement._

"You have no idea what you've found," he remarked quietly.

Fran crossed her arms. "Then enlighten us. I thought they were just papers…"

He didn't know how to explain it. "May I see them? Perhaps I could make some sense of what you've found."

"So you can run off to the Feds and leave me and Fran high and dry? I think not, friend," Balthier answered mockingly. "Here's the deal. You're persona non grata of the highest order. So first things first…disguise." Balthier tossed his fedora at him. "I'm sure your friend will have something suitable for you to wear. So you take the kid and visit that lawyer, and Fran and I will go grab the case. We meet up at my place tonight. Objections?"

Basch placed the hat on his head, hoping that things would go smoothly. He supposed that Vossler wouldn't be happy to see him, but he was their best hope for finding Ashelia.

Vaan, on the other hand, was not pleased with this plan. "No way. I'll get the case. It's mine, remember?"

Fran smiled. "We're in this together now, little one." Vaan darkened at Fran's term of endearment, but he stayed quiet. "I'm sure the reward for bringing down Vayne Solidor and his goons will be more than enough to split three…I'm sorry, four ways," she finished with an eyebrow raised in Basch's direction.

Balthier pulled out a pad of paper and a pen he'd taken from their hotel the night before. "Just to show you what a wonderful guy I am, here is the address of my establishment." He passed the address to Basch, bypassing Vaan's outstretched hand. "We will meet at eight sharp and open the case together. The password is Kitty Hawk…"

"No, it is not."

The gangster turned to Fran and frowned. "It's not?"

She smirked. "Kitty Hawk was last week. This week it's Lindy Hop."

Balthier groaned. "You and Nono better stop changing the passwords every other day. Man can't run an honest business with that sort of nonsense…"

Basch stuffed the address in his pocket as the train pulled into the station. They stood up and looked at each other.

"Tonight then," he said quietly, pulling the brim of the hat over his eyes.

"Until tonight," Balthier replied. He and Fran departed the train first. Vaan looked out at Union Station, a sadness in his eyes that Basch fully understood.

"Vossler's office is only a few blocks from here, just over the river."

Vaan nodded, and they exited the train.


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Wow. I'm sorry! It's been a long chunk of time between updates, but hey, you never really think rewriting THE ENTIRE GAME is crazy until you START DOING IT. I am epic fail. Well enough of that. Please enjoy the next installment! Thank you for your patience!

--

The chilly air was stinging his cheeks as he and Basch emerged from Union Station. Vaan never thought he'd be walking the streets of Chicago with the man he thought had killed his brother, but everything in his life had drastically changed in just a few short days. They crossed the steel bridge spanning the Chicago River and trudged east to find the lawyer's office.

"So who is this Vossler guy? Amy was alone when we met up with her the other night," he inquired, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Basch gave him a strange look when he mentioned Amy, but Vaan couldn't figure out why. "He was a good friend in the war. We fought together. He was one of Raminas B'Nargin's lawyers, and he was kind enough to get me a job." The older man held Balthier's hat down on his head as a draft of wind came upon them. "Of course, that was some time ago."

Vaan shrugged. "Well, do you think he'll even let us in? I know I wasn't exactly friendly to you and if this guy was your friend…"

The engineer chuckled. "I have grown used to an absence of friends in my life." He shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry, I haven't even asked. Do you have family? I wouldn't want to keep you."

The last place Vaan wanted to go was back to Miguel's shop. Not when they had their appointment at Balthier's place that night. Miguel or Penny would probably just have him scrub the floor or wash dishes. Then again, he and Basch would need to lay low for the rest of the day. Perhaps Miguel's would be their best bet and peeling a few potatoes wouldn't be so bad after all.

"We can go back there later. Let's meet your friend first. It's freezing out here!" he declared and increased the speed of his footsteps. Vossler's office was in a smaller brick building on Jackson, and fortunately there weren't any clients in the lobby when he and Basch entered.

A bored-looking secretary pecked away at a typewriter, and she barely glanced up at them as they waited in front of her. "Mr. Azelas is busy right now. He's got an important meeting later today."

Basch frowned. "It's very important that I see him immediately."

The secretary looked up and sighed. "And I want to make more than fifty cents an hour, pal. I said Mr. Azelas is busy."

Vaan watched Basch's face grow serious. It was obvious enough that he'd been a fairly tough soldier back in the day because the secretary's eyes seemed apologetic and almost frightened for being short with him. Ronsenburg stepped around the woman's desk and forced his way into Azelas' office, and Vaan did his best to hurry after him.

He was greeted with the scowling face of a man in a suit. Vossler Azelas had dark hair and a mood to match. He had apparently been nursing a scotch idly until Basch busted in, and the man's expression changed from anger to shock and then quickly back to anger. The fellow was out of his cushy leather chair and around the desk in seconds, his steps only partially hindered by drink. The men were about the same age and size, but they each had a handicap. Vossler was drunk, and Basch was weary from imprisonment. Vaan wasn't sure what he was supposed to do if they started throwing punches.

The lawyer sneered at Basch. "What the hell are you doing alive? And here? You're nothing but a traitor!"

Basch held his hands up in surrender, and Vaan shut the office door quietly as he saw the secretary peering in interest from the outer lobby. Ronsenburg cleared his throat. "Vossler, I know you hate me, but I swear that I did not kill Raminas."

Vossler stumbled back and leaned on his desk for support. "What's truth from someone like you? You always were full of secrets. Old man's favorite and you stab him in the back."

Vaan stepped around the angry confrontation and examined his surroundings. The wall was lined with pictures and Vossler's diplomas. There were shelves full of thick law books, and he couldn't help noticing a photo of Vossler with Amy and a man that Vaan recognized as Mr. B'Nargin. Was Amy related to B'Nargin? Was she Mr. B'Nargin's daughter? But that couldn't be…Ashelia B'Nargin had died just after her father and Rex. There was a lot going on that Vaan didn't understand.

"You may not believe me, but I give you my word. We don't have time to argue about the past. There are far more important things to worry about."

Vaan saw that Vossler didn't trust a word out of Basch's mouth. It couldn't hurt to help the man, could it? "Um, Mr. Azelas? Are you friends with Amy? Archadia has her."

The boy watched the lawyer almost visibly shrink, and he trudged back around the desk to heave himself into his chair. The fellow picked up his empty glass and added a cube of ice to his mouth and crunched down on it hard. "I know."

Basch was livid. "You took her to a shootout?"

Vossler grinned. "There's a lot you don't know about that girl. The whole thing was her idea." Basch did not appear amused. Vossler's face fell. "But yeah, they've got her now. Some Pinkerton named Ghis has her." He bit down on another ice cube. "I'm actually on my way to a meeting. I'm trying to negotiate her release."

"Negotiate?" Basch asked. "With whom?"

Vaan couldn't tell if Azelas was smiling or wincing. "Vayne Solidor." The lawyer hoisted himself from his chair and moved to the mirror to check his appearance. "Only option I've got."

Basch seemed unsatisfied. "Raminas entrusted you with her care. The one thing he wanted was to keep her away from that man, and you've…" His sharp gaze moved to the bottles of liquor on the end of Vossler's desk. "You've spent more time drinking than taking care of her!"

Vossler smoothed down his hair. "You have no idea what these two years have been like, Basch. Hiding her when all she's wanted was to go public. It hasn't exactly been a picnic."

"And talking to that snake Solidor is going to do any bit of good?" Basch asked in irritation.

"You got a better idea? War's over, Basch. Long over. We tried to storm R.A. Banastre and look what it got us." The lawyer was gaining back a bit of his sobriety, and he buttoned up his suit coat and adjusted his tie. "Didn't spend so many years in law school for nothing, you know. I know how to talk to people like him." Basch remained silent as Vossler prepared to depart. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just come back from the dead to harass me. I'll get her back no matter what it takes."

Vossler moved to leave, but turned back when Basch cleared his throat. "You have every right to kick me out, Vossler, I understand that. But I…I need a way to lay low."

"And you need a suit?" the lawyer inquired with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "Harassment _and_ highway robbery is it?" Azelas shook his head and moved to his desk and produced a wallet. He handed a few bills to Basch, and Vaan hadn't seen that much money in some time. "I suppose we're even. If old man B'Nargin could see the two of us now…"

Basch looked to his friend, and for the first time, Vaan could tell that the two men went way back. He could almost imagine the two of them jumping over the top of some trench and running across No Man's Land. Vossler and Basch exchanged a look, and the lawyer held his office door open. They departed and watched Vossler wander off in the cold. Vaan wondered if Vossler would have any luck talking with that damned Solidor.

He shivered. "We've got some time before we need to meet up with Balthier and Fran. I live on Taylor Street." He gestured to the handful of money that Basch was shoving into his pocket quickly. "I think we have enough to get you some clothes and for the streetcar back."

Basch chuckled. "I think Vossler gave me enough to buy the damn streetcar." They shared a laugh then, and Vaan found that his anger towards the older man was lessening with each passing hour.

-----

A new suit of clothes made him feel less like a vagrant and more like the man of means he'd been in the years before the stock market crash. Basch was surprised by Vossler's generosity, but it was probably his old friend's only way to apologize without coming right out and saying so. It unnerved him that Vossler had fallen so far as to take Ashelia to a gunfight, and Basch was fairly certain that Vayne Solidor would deny he even had the girl in his custody. Basch had been spirited away by Archadia Industries thugs, and the same fate probably awaited B'Nargin's daughter. Unless his brother's threats were to be believed.

He watched the city streets pass by out the streetcar window, and he frowned. There would be no negotiation with Solidor. He had to find Ashelia before Gabranth or the other Pinkerton thugs did anything to harm her. Vaan continued to be a puzzle. Basch understood why the boy hated Archadia Industries, but Basch was worried that he was getting in over his head. Perhaps opening the case at Balthier's that night would be the last little adventure for the young man. Anything more and Vaan would probably be set upon by Solidor's thugs.

The wealthier parts of the city were behind them, and Basch frowned at the state of Vaan's neighborhood. Kids were playing stickball in the streets despite the cold, but most of them had threadbare coats if they had coats at all, and he could tell from their skinny frames that none had had a decent meal in some time. The streetcar continued west, and finally Vaan rang for a stop.

Basch followed the young man onto Taylor Street, and the scent of Italian spices and meats filled his nostrils. Although the neighborhood had very little, it seemed that the people were making the most of their native recipes to deal with the food shortages. Basch had been fed decently enough at the Archadia facility since he was considered valuable, but he hadn't had anything that smelled so delicious in two years.

He walked after Vaan, and they reached a brick storefront at the end of the block. The store seemed only marginally stocked with various sundry items, but what drew Basch's eye was the long line of bodies that snaked its way from a side entrance halfway down the block. Vaan encouraged him to enter through the store, and he followed the boy inside. The building was warm, but there were few customers. It appeared that most came for the soup kitchen.

Vaan led him into a kitchen, and Basch was surprised to see a few children no older than Vaan stirring pots of soup and peeling vegetables. Vaan scratched his head when he walked in and poked his head out into the dining room and then back into the kitchen. He turned to address one of the young boys stirring a large pot of broth. "Hey Kytes, where's Miguel? And Penny?"

The boy turned away from the stove and turned the heat down. He raced across the kitchen and nearly bowled Vaan over. "I don't believe it! You're alive, Vaan!"

"Of course I'm alive," Vaan replied in amusement. "A little arrest isn't enough to do me in."

The other children looked to Basch in confusion, but otherwise seemed excited that Vaan had returned. Kytes crossed his arms. "Miguel's not here. He's at the police station."

Vaan's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

The boy sighed. "Well, it's kind of your fault."

"My fault?"

Kytes shrugged and moved back to tend to the pot of broth. "Penny went missing the same night you did. So he's filing a report right now at the station."

Vaan had mentioned his friend Penny during their long trek to Kenosha. To Basch, it sounded like the girl was the only one who could successfully keep the boy in line. Basch hoped that no serious harm had come to her, but if Archadia had snatched her on the same night, she would have likely been taken to another one of their prisons and forgotten. He watched Vaan's face grow angry and red, and Basch settled a hand on the young man's shoulder.

There was not much he could do for Ashelia at present, but if Penny had been taken on the same night, maybe the two young ladies had been taken to the same place? It was a long shot, but Basch had few leads to follow. "Why don't we go find your friend Miguel? Maybe he has more information than the children."

Vaan only nodded. He'd apparently wanted to come back bragging about all his exploits at R.A. Banastre and then his great prison break, but the news of his friend's disappearance had clearly crushed him. The boy grabbed a knitted cap from a coat rack near the door and bounded back out onto the icy streets. Basch was grateful that Vossler's money had purchased him a new long coat since the air was so biting.

They walked a few more blocks to the local precinct, and once inside, it didn't seem too hard to find Miguel. A rather large man with a bushy mustache and a scratchy voice hurried over as soon as Vaan entered the station and cuffed the boy over the head. Vaan cried out in pain but was otherwise unharmed. Basch had to suppress a laugh. Miguel was obviously more than a shopkeeper, but a surrogate parent for Vaan and all the other children.

The Italian man grumbled a bit in his native tongue and then calmed down enough to yell at Vaan in English once again. "She went after you! She tried to follow and someone got to her!"

"I swear, Miguel. I didn't tell her where I was going and…"

"You think Penny's so naïve, Vaan?" Miguel blustered, his face beet red with emotion and his breaths coming in quick heaving gulps. "They found her coat at the scene, and there was a note on it!"

Basch decided to take a bit of the pressure off of the boy. "A note? What did it say? Did the police know what it meant?"

Miguel didn't seem to care that he was there and addressed him immediately as one would an old friend. The man probably figured he was a visitor to his soup kitchen. "The police?" he cried, waving his arms frantically. "I've been waiting a solid hour to talk to those useless lay-abouts!" A few of the precinct's finest raised their heads from their desks but did little else. "Nobody cares about a pretty young girl going missing unless she comes from a good neighborhood!"

Vaan tried to calm the older fellow down. "Listen to me, Miguel. I'll find her. It's my fault, so I can go get her. Now what did the note say? What does Archadia want with Penny?"

The Italian shook his head. "No, no, you've got it all wrong!" He shoved a card in the boy's hands. "It's not Archadia. Or at least I don't think so."

Basch peered over the boy's shoulder. "I don't believe it…"

The card was covered in a harsh scrawl, but it was legible enough for Basch's eyes: _Balthier, you can find your little friend and your handkerchief with Mr. Lincoln. _

"Who is Mr. Lincoln?" Miguel grumbled, "And more importantly, who is this Balthier?"

Vaan looked up at him in surprise, and Basch could do no more than stare back.

-----

A hot bath and a steak dinner had hit the spot perfectly. The club wouldn't open for a few more hours, and Balthier leaned back in his chair. Some girl from Detroit was coming to sing that night, and the latest batch of gin was all set for the customers. He would have never pegged himself as a businessman so many years ago, but the world had changed a great deal since he'd left home.

Fran sat at the table in the corner of the office with a stack of bills. Her lovely face was set in a frown as she wrote out checks and balanced the club's accounts. "God laughs at us, Balthier. As soon as we pay the rent, we wreck the car."

He chuckled at his dear friend. "Would you stop worrying, Fran?" Balthier let his eyes drift to the leather case of R.A. Banastre stocks. "We'll be duly rewarded for toppling Archadia's empire in Chicago."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't get any ideas. We promised to wait until Basch and Vaan arrived."

He rose from his seat and sighed. The case was so tempting. Nono could always deny the two nuisances entrance to The Barnstormer. He and Fran could take the Strahl right then and there and knock on President Hoover's door. They'd be heroes in Chicago. "Can't I just take a peek? It was dark in those sewers, you know. Verify the prize, that sort of thing?"

Fran shook her head. "They will know. And we are nothing if not honest people."

He snorted and let his hand drift idly over the case. Clearly these documents were worth killing over. They'd been hauled off to the middle of nowhere Wisconsin because of it, and God only knew where the bastards had taken the very much alive B'Nargin heir. "You can tell them it was me. You can look away if you don't want to spoil the surprise." Fran sighed loudly as he unzipped the case. Stacks of stock certificates were clipped together, but his eyes settled immediately on what rested underneath them.

"Found something?" Fran inquired without looking up from the accounts.

He picked up a small silver key and held it up to the light. "It appears I have." The key wouldn't fit in a door, and it was engraved "12FF." Balthier scrutinized it a few moments longer. "Safety deposit box key?"

His friend finally met his gaze. "Put it back, Balthier. These stocks have already caused us enough headaches."

Balthier moved to his coat where it hung on the coat rack and added the tiny silver key to his key ring. "I don't think so. There's more to this than it seems, Fran." Of course, he had no idea what that could be at present, but it wouldn't hurt to do a little investigating into what bank box key 12FF opened. He set the stock certificates back in the case and zipped it up again. The others would have no idea there'd been a key in the first place.

He moved away from Fran, the case, and the pile of bills and admired his picture of his hero. He wondered if Lucky Lindy ever got mixed up in crazy messes like this. Unlikely, Balthier mused and touched his fingers to the Spirit of St. Louis. Unlike Lindbergh, piloting had taken a backseat to the necessity to survive in Balthier's case.

There was a knock on the door, and Nono poked in his head. Laszlo Nonokiewicz had been the first friend Balthier had made in Chicago after Fran, and the short little Polish immigrant had been an asset from day one. He'd helped set up The Barnstormer and kept the business running whenever he and Fran headed out on foolish capers. Though diminutive in stature, Nono was not one to trifle with. The little fellow could best anyone in a fist fight, and he had lots of connections throughout the city. Though Balthier was the pretty face of their speakeasy, Nono was the man who got things done.

Nono appeared irritated and was already shaking his head in annoyance. "Three men to see you."

Balthier took his eyes away from his Lindbergh photo and turned to his friend in surprise. "Three?"

Nono was roughly moved out of the way, and a rather large man pushed himself into Balthier's office and charged at him. Balthier had no time to react as the fellow grabbed him by his suspenders and scowled up at him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Basch and Vaan waltz in past Nono. "Are you Balthier?" the fat man cried in heavily accented English.

He decided that this guy was on the warpath. Wouldn't do to rile him up too much. He saw Fran rise from the table and shut the door. "Yes, that's me. Proprietor of this establishment. Can I get you a drink? Calm your nerves?"

The man shoved him back roughly against the wall and crossed his arms. All of his framed aviation photographs shook at the impact, and there would be hell to pay if any of his personal effects were broken. "No, you lousy crook! It's your fault that Penny's been nabbed!"

The name was unfamiliar, and now his back hurt. He'd need another hot bath at this rate. He turned to Fran in confusion. "Who's Penny?"

Fran smirked. "The handkerchief girl."

Enlightenment arrived. Ah, of course. The pretty girl with the pigtails who'd been foolish enough to follow Vaan that night. Balthier took his time wandering back to his desk, and he sat down. The Italian fellow still appeared furious, but Basch and Vaan moved over to hover by the leather case. Fran joined them, her hands immediately settling next to the case almost casually.

Nono was still irked in the doorway. "Mr. B, I'm going to have the stagehands get ready for Miss Heartilly's show. Let me know if you need anything." Balthier waved a hand to dismiss the little man, and he turned his attention back to his guests.

"Alright, friend. Have a seat. Just tell me what happened, and we'll see just how this is remotely any fault of mine," he remarked, but the man refused the seat. Instead, he wrenched a note from his pocket and tossed it across the desk.

"You tell me, you no good bootlegger!"

Vaan raised his voice finally. "Miguel…"

Balthier quirked an eyebrow. Apparently Basch and Vaan had happily told this Miguel about his means of employment. The last thing he needed was bad press for the club. He'd have to play ball. "Let's see here." He picked up the paper and let his eyes run over the words, and his annoyance increased a thousand fold. "He has to be kidding!"

"What does it say?" Fran asked cautiously.

He sighed. "Apparently our mutual friend Bagamnan has taken Penny to see Mr. Lincoln. In exchange for her safety, we have to give him five thousand and the name of our gin supplier."

Miguel pounded a meaty fist on the desk. "And you'll do just that! If anything happens to Penny, I'll report your little operation here to City Hall!"

Fran's eyes narrowed in the direction of their already mountainous set of bills. "Five thousand?"

Basch moved over to stand at the desk. "And who is Mr. Lincoln? Some…underworld contact of yours?"

Balthier laughed at the man's naiveté. His life was obviously intriguing to a brainy engineer and a teenager. "Underworld? Heavens no." He tore the note up and scattered the fragments in the air. "Abraham Lincoln."

Vaan scratched his head. "What?"

"Just what I said, Abraham Lincoln." It was just like that bastard Bagamnan to take her to neutral territory. And as stupid and clumsy and downright annoying as his rival was, Bagamnan sure knew how to make a caper exciting. This particular mission would play directly to Balthier's hobby. When the others still appeared confused, he decided to clarify for their feebler minds. "Sixteenth president of these United States?"

Miguel's face was the color of a tomato, and if Balthier didn't know any better, the Italian would probably break him in half in the next minute or so. "I know who Abraham Lincoln is, boy. Where is this criminal taking that sweet girl? I have her parents' memory to consider! You're going to help her and that's that!"

He sighed. They'd just gotten back, and he was looking forward to the lovely Miss Heartilly's performance that night. For a member of the lowlife criminal community, he was getting soft. "Fine. We fly to Washington tonight."

"Washington?" Vaan cried, and Balthier smiled as he rose from his seat. Fran appeared irritated by this turn of events, but he knew she'd come.

"We have an appointment with Mr. Lincoln. They'll be keeping her around the Memorial. A bit epic for Bagamnan this time," he explained as he moved to put on his coat.

Basch was very confused. "Washington D.C.? You can book a flight at this hour?"

He smirked and snatched his borrowed fedora back from Ronsenburg and adjusted it on his head. "Fran, bring the case."

Vaan was in front of him then and angry. "How can you be so casual about this? They've got Penny! I don't care about the stupid stocks!"

Balthier grinned. "Bagamnan is many things, but he's not a killer. His quarrel is with me." He patted the furious Miguel on the shoulder. "We'll get her back, no problem. Fran, tender my apologies to Nono. Afraid he'll have to mind the club again tonight."

His partner departed the office, and he was met with three confused faces. "I'm guessing you'd like to come along for the fun?"

Vaan nodded vehemently, and Basch only assented because it seemed he had no other options. Miguel grumbled about having to open his store in the morning, and he departed in a huff. As the man slammed the door, the aviation photos rumbled again, and Balthier scowled. Now that he was saddled with two additional companions, the Strahl wouldn't be an option. He unlocked his desk drawer and produced a pistol for himself and Fran. Vaan's eyes widened at this, and he concealed a smile.

Fran returned and put her own coat on. "Nono says we can take his car if we promise not to destroy it," she said with a hint of humor in her voice.

He caught the car key she tossed his way, and he turned to his guests. "Gentlemen, have you ever flown out of Munie before?"


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: For your reference, the Strahl is a Curtiss JN-4 ("Jenny") and the larger plane is a Ford Trimotor ("Tin Goose"). You can read more on Wikipedia since I'm a dirty cheater and that's where I look things up. Haha.

-----

"Come on, darling, no need to be so grumpy."

Ashe hugged her knees against her chest and frowned. "I told you, Mr. Ghis, I don't know what you're talking about."

The older man loomed over her, his eyes colder than ice. The scent of the pomade in his hair was making her dizzy, but she would not give in. "Miss B'Nargin, we found you at the scene of the crime. Where are your father's papers?"

The zeppelin's engines hummed beneath the floor and made her nervous. She didn't like flying in these contraptions. Ghis knelt down and the gunk in his hair was enough to make her close her eyes and wince. Ashe's ankle ached as the metal cuff chafed her skin. "I don't know anything about papers. We were there to kill Vayne Solidor."

"My dear girl," the older man scoffed, reaching out a hand to grab her chin tightly. "You'd do well to tell me the truth. I can be a reasonable man." Ashe scowled. He had reasonably chained her to the floor of a tiny room inside a zeppelin. He'd also reasonably denied her food for the past few days. Yes, the Pinkertons had been entirely reasonable.

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you. My father never told me anything. If there were any papers in the building, I didn't know about them."

Ghis released her and stood up. "We will be stopping off in Washington tonight. You will remain aboard while we dine with friends in town. Perhaps the loneliness will encourage you to talk. Otherwise…" The man let his fingers brush through a few strands of her hair, and she felt about ready to vomit at his touch. "Otherwise, we'll have to break you a bit." He moved to the door and opened it. Ashe resisted the urge to shiver at his imposing figure in the doorway, his darkened shadow falling over her. The door closed, and she sighed.

Why wouldn't they just kill her and be done with it? What was the point in hauling her off to Washington? Or wherever they were taking her? It killed her to think of it, but if she was going to die, she hoped that gangster Balthier would get over himself and make her father's stocks public. At least then her attempts would not have been entirely in vain.

-----

Basch would never ride in a car driven by Fran again. The quiet woman was a fiend behind the wheel, and they drove from Balthier's speakeasy to Chicago Municipal Airport in less than an hour. He was still gripping the leather seats of Nono's Model A in terror when Balthier and Fran were already out of the car and walking away. The night air was even chillier than the blustering morning had been, and he slammed the door shut and hurried after the criminals.

The tarmac was lit with dozens of lights, and from his vantage point, Basch could see the flagmen waving airplanes onto the runways. They were almost to the terminal when Balthier suddenly cut left and began leading them towards one of the hangars.

"Balthier?" Vaan called, and the fellow didn't even turn around to acknowledge him. "Balthier, the terminal's that way if we're going to buy tickets!" The boy was rewarded with a mere snort, and Fran patted his shoulder in a patronizing fashion.

Instead, Balthier led them through an open door and into an enormous hangar. "Everyone, this is the Strahl." Though the hangar was barely lit, Basch was immediately awed by the sight of the small two-seater aircraft. He was immediately reminded of the airplanes that flew overhead when he'd been in Europe. How had Balthier been able to purchase one?

Vaan immediately raced up to the plane and ran his hands over the metal frame. "We're flying to DC in this?"

Balthier chuckled. "Unless you and Basch want to be strapped to the wings, I doubt it." Basch watched the younger man inspect his plane shrewdly. "A Jenny only seats two."

Fran stood beside him and shook her head. "Balthier just enjoys showing off his baby."

"You're damn right, I do!" the bootlegger retorted. Balthier showed Vaan the various dials at the pilot's seat while Fran gave Basch a bit of background on the airplane. Apparently, Balthier had purchased the Strahl from an old barnstormer. The man had tired of flying in stunt shows and the Depression had hit him hard. Balthier had been happy to buy the plane off of him. He'd even made a few improvements to the engine. Basch wondered how someone as young as Balthier had obtained the means to buy an airplane and furthermore, the knowledge of how to tinker with one.

"Balthier?" his partner asked as one would speak with an overexcited child. "Vaan's friend would probably appreciate our speed in this matter?"

The man waved her off dismissively, but climbed down from the plane and walked off towards the opposite end of the hangar. The three of them followed Balthier to a small office in the back of the hangar and remained outside while Balthier spoke with an old man behind a desk.

Fran pulled her coat tightly around herself and smirked. "We'll probably be borrowing a Tin Goose from here."

"Borrowing?" Basch inquired. He half expected Balthier to hold the old man at gunpoint, but he was instead surprised as the elderly fellow rose from his chair and clapped the gangster on the back happily. Vaan was shivering, and Basch hoped they'd be departing soon.

Within minutes, Balthier had managed to commission the services of a passenger plane, and they were strapping into their seats for a flight to Washington D.C. To Basch's surprise, Balthier and Fran themselves were piloting the aircraft. He should have known that Balthier had an interest in aviation – his office at the gin joint had been almost entirely wallpapered with photographs of airplanes and pilots.

They were in the air soon enough, and Basch gripped the arms of the seat. It had been a very long time since he'd been in an airplane. He much preferred trains or other forms of transportation, but after experiencing Fran's driving, he figured that Balthier's piloting was a step up.

"We'll be there in a few hours. And then we can be at the Memorial by sunrise!" Balthier called back to him and Vaan from the cockpit.

He closed his eyes and settled in. It had been a very strange few days. Two years trapped in a small room and now he was flying to the capital. At the very least, he would have less chance of being recognized there than in Chicago. The engines' hum was helping him relax, but he couldn't help overhearing Vaan beside him.

The boy was staring out the window and had probably never flown before. Basch could see his determined face reflected in the small glass window. "I'm coming, Penny."

-----

It was chilly in the small hotel room, and she wished that these mean people hadn't left her coat behind. Every time she glanced out the window, she had a plain view of the Capitol building, and Penny wished that she was visiting Washington D.C. under far different circumstances. The greasy man, Bagamnan, had only just arrived that day. Penny had overheard the gang arguing about something in Wisconsin going wrong. His associates had driven her all the way here, and although they'd fed her well enough, there was little comfort to be had.

The lady in Bagamnan's gang was in the room with her all the time so she wouldn't escape, and the others kept leering at her. How had all this crazy stuff happened? Vaan had gone and tried to cause trouble at R.A. Banastre and before she knew it, she'd been hauled off into a black car just after the well-dressed man had given her his handkerchief. Penny wondered if she'd ever be able to go home. She was worried about Miguel and the kids at the store. Would there be enough help to feed the people who came to the soup kitchen without her? Did they all think she was dead?

There was a loud knock on the door, and the woman moved to answer it. Penny returned her gaze to the dark capital outside. She could already smell the cheap cologne and knew it was Bagamnan.

"Have you kept her well? Balthier's bait needs to be in top condition for tomorrow," the sleazy fellow remarked, and Penny scowled.

She turned away from the window to glare at the man. "I keep telling you! I don't know who this Balthier is!" And that was the truth! The man had been hauled away with Vaan, but she'd never seen him before in her entire life.

Another one of Bagamnan's gang came hurrying into the room, and it was growing crowded. "Mr. Bagamnan, sir! We got a wire from Munie! Balthier just flew out an hour ago!"

Bagamnan slunk over and leaned close to her. His breath was disgusting. "Don't know Balthier, do you honey? You're getting him to fly halfway across the country for you." Penny didn't know how to respond to that. She could only imagine that Vaan had asked him to. But knowing that they were coming made her heart leap. They'd obviously escaped from wherever Archadia had taken them.

The gangster crew kept rambling on about the various ways they'd be torturing Balthier when he arrived, and she wanted to be sick. She looked back outside and stared at the sky. Every airplane could be them.

"Where are you?" she mumbled under her breath.

-----

There was a message at the desk of the airfield when they arrived. The barely legible scrawl and numerous misspellings clearly indicated Bagamnan's authorship. The man could barely string a sentence together aloud, and writing was even more of a mental hardship for him. Balthier sighed as he deciphered the intent of the message.

Vaan scratched his head as he peered over his shoulder. "What does it say?"

"Find your girl at 7 AM. Come alone," Balthier read slowly, nearly wincing at the way Bagamnan had misspelled every other word. He smiled. "Come alone? Does he really think I'd be that stupid?"

Basch drummed his fingers on the airline counter nervously. "Will he truly harm the girl?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I doubt it. He's just a pest. He's only got her so he can turn me in to the Feds."

Vaan was already tugging on his arm. "Well, what are we waiting for? It's almost 6:30!" Balthier was amused by how very little Vaan seemed to care about he and Fran's probable plight at the hands of Bagamnan and his thugs.

Fran smiled. "I'll arrange a taxi into the city." He watched his patient partner wander off to negotiate their transport and took a moment to yawn. He'd regret going without sleep soon enough. He and Fran had probably consumed three gallons of coffee during the flight while their passengers slept. They were on their way in moments, and Balthier paid little attention to the sights of the capital. He didn't really care right now. He just wanted to find Vaan's girl and get the hell back to the club. Who knew how much Kramer would charge him for taking out his Trimotor? Even the bribe wouldn't cover them for an extended visit to D.C.

He shoved a handful of cash in the cabbie's hand when they arrived on the Mall. They were only a few minutes' walk from Mr. Lincoln now. Since it was still early, there weren't many people wandering around. A few homeless, but nobody that looked like Bagamnan's gang. Basch frowned. "Do you think we're supposed to go into the Memorial?"

Balthier smirked. "Probably." He checked his pocket watch. "Already after 7, might as well…"

"Excuse me?"

He turned around to see a young man bundled up in a fairly expensive looking coat. He had a map of the capital tucked under his arm and a camera. Balthier swore the kid was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Familiar faces seemed to be popping up all over the place lately. It was enough to make one's head spin.

"You're on your way to the Lincoln Memorial?" the boy inquired, and his voice instantly placed him as one of those silver spoon kids from the Upper East Side. He should know – he used to be one of them, he thought to himself darkly. A rich kid from Manhattan on his own in D.C.? This was interesting. "Can I come with you? I've always wanted to see it for myself."

The last thing they needed was a kid tagging along if Bagamnan was in the area. Basch seemed to realize the danger as well. "I'm sorry, but why do you need to go to the Memorial at this time of day?"

The boy didn't miss a beat. "I could ask the same of you."

"Fine," Balthier muttered. "Stay where I can see you, alright? Don't want your poor mother worrying about you." Speaking of, where was this kid's mother? Why was he wandering around this early in the morning by himself? Fran gave him a cautious look, but Vaan seemed far more enthusiastic about another person joining their caper.

The boy extended his hand to their newest companion. "I'm Vaan, what's your name?"

The younger boy stumbled a bit. "Me? Oh…I'm uh…Adam Lamont." Balthier knew immediately that he was lying. Perhaps he was a runaway? Spoiled rich kids tended to do foolish things like that, but when it was nearly winter? The kid was shaking in his shoes from the cold and probably from his little ruse. Balthier hoped that Vaan and the kid would go look at the Memorial alone, leaving him and Fran to give Bagamnan the fake money he'd brought and hopefully get out of there quickly.

Vaan was immediately trusting. "Nice to meet you! Well, you don't have to worry about us. You're in good hands, Adam." He smiled. "Isn't that right, Basch?" Balthier had to resist the urge to strangle the boy, and Basch looked petrified. They'd agreed on fake names at the airport, and Vaan had already screwed things up. This morning was going to go badly, he just knew it.

Balthier sighed and began trudging towards the Memorial. He could already see the enormous statue of Lincoln waiting, but Fran was by his side in moments. "Someone is coming out of the Memorial," she whispered in his ear. She was right, and Balthier had to suppress a yelp of surprise.

The Secretary of the Treasury himself Halim Ondore was exiting with someone Balthier had been happy to not have seen in some time – Andrew Ghis, one of the leading Pinkertons in the employ of Vayne Solidor. Balthier waved his companions over to wait by the stairs out of the way. The two men seemed to be engaged in a heated conversation.

"Mr. Solidor is growing impatient," Ghis said angrily. "Don't you have friends in Justice?"

Ondore scowled. "It is not my job to meddle in the other departments, Mr. Ghis. I've been a good friend to your Mr. Solidor all this time. I will not be bribed."

Ghis gritted his teeth. "Your stubbornness will not only be your undoing, Mr. Secretary, but this whole capital's. Don't think that Archadia Industries is lacking in evidence against both your department and the entire Cabinet. You'll all go down in flames if you don't play nice with Mr. Solidor."

The Treasury Secretary's hand visibly tightened on his cane. "And Project Bahamut is your leverage against us all, then?"

The two men were out of earshot then, and it was far too risky for them to follow. Vaan and "Adam Lamont" were looking at the boy's map and had apparently missed the conversation completely. Fran had to actually hold Basch back. "What is it?" he asked the older man, and he hadn't yet seen the engineer appear so furious.

"That Ghis has Ashelia," Basch hissed, and Balthier remembered overhearing that. Perhaps the girl was being held in D.C. as well?

Fran's grip on the engineer's arm was enough to keep him in place. "Can't make a scene, I'm sorry. We find Penny first and then perhaps concern ourselves with Ashelia." Balthier wanted to throttle his friend for making a promise like that. As spirited as the B'Nargin girl had been, they didn't need to entangle themselves in her one woman crusade against Vayne Solidor.

Balthier whistled for Vaan's attention. "Alright kids, let's go!" Bagamnan wouldn't be stupid enough to bring the girl into the Memorial where she could call for help. This was all a rather infuriating set-up. Vaan and the Lamont kid bounded up the steps, and he, Fran, and Basch approached with a bit more caution. Bagamnan wouldn't dare pull a gun with children around. Perhaps the brats were useful after all.

Adam started instructing Vaan on how to use his camera, and Fran moved around the back of Lincoln's statue to see if Bagamnan's crew was perched out of sight. Balthier reached the top of the steps and turned back to gaze across the reflecting pool. It was a clear morning, and the Washington Monument pointed to the heavens not so far away. From his vantage point at the Memorial entrance, he could see anyone approaching, but nobody looking like Bagamnan or his lazy crew was visible. Was it all a set-up?

Fran approached a few moments later and was holding a manila folder in her hands. "This was left behind the statue…"

Balthier only had a moment to glance at the words "Margrace Oil" on the top of the folder when the Lamont kid snatched it away from Fran's grasp.

"Oh, you found it!" the boy announced shakily. "I left that here the other day. That's why I had to come back." Adam stuffed the folder inside his coat hastily, and Balthier knew there was far more to this kid than he was letting on.

"Is your errand completed then, Adam?" he asked darkly, stepping closer to the boy and backing him up against the base of Lincoln's statue. Margrace Oil? They were threatening to buy out the Solidors. It was obvious that someone had left that folder for the kid. Was it Ondore? Or one of the Margraces?

The boy was fidgety, and Balthier used his height to intimidate him. "Yes, thank you. I…I have money if you want me to pay you for escorting me here…"

"Margrace Oil, huh? You just happened to leave a folder on one of the biggest companies in Texas behind Honest Abe's statue? Just who are you?" Balthier pressed, and Vaan moved to step in front of Adam.

"Leave him alone, Balthier," Vaan mumbled.

But Balthier had no time to continue his interrogation of the kid. "You managed to avoid us in Wisconsin, Balthier. We've missed you!"

He turned on his heel to see Bagamnan and a pair of his largest goons. He shouldn't have moved away from the top of the steps. They'd easily snuck up on them, and they all had switchblades. Heaven forbid gangsters shoot up a symbol of one of the nation's greatest presidents. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fran prepare their case of counterfeit bills to toss Bagamnan's way. Basch kept the stock case inside his coat, and hopefully Bagamnan wouldn't notice.

He held his coat open slightly to show the pistol in his hip holster. "Ah, Bagamnan. I thought I smelled that cheap aftershave."

The gangster sneered and stepped forward with his knife. "Always got something to say, don't you, pretty boy? Just come quietly with us or your little fan club will get their insides ripped out."

Vaan shoved his way past him to stare down Bagamnan. Balthier had to admit that the kid had guts. "Where's Penny?" the boy demanded. "We're taking her back!"

The goons laughed, and Bagamnan shook his head. "Cut her loose. Halfway to the White House by now I bet. We got what we came for." The thug beckoned to Fran. "If you don't mind, Frannie?"

The standoff continued for a few moments until Bagamnan reeled back with a yelp of surprise. Balthier was startled for a moment, but then saw the burly gangster tumble back down the Memorial steps. Adam Lamont's fancy camera was smashed on the ground, and the kid was already halfway to the reflecting pool. Whoever he was, he'd just bought them a way out at the expense of a brand new camera. The goons were preoccupied with their boss, and Balthier exchanged a relieved smile with Fran.

"Hey!" Vaan cried after the kid. "Adam, wait!"

Fran grabbed Vaan by the collar of his coat and pulled him down the steps after her. "Let's get out of here."

Basch hurried after, and Balthier turned back to grin at the statue. "My regards," he muttered to Honest Abe with a tip of his hat, and he took off after his companions. He could see Bagamnan moaning in pain at the base of the steps, and his goons didn't seem willing to keep up with them.

They hurried off across the Mall, but Fran beckoned them all to sneak around the back of the Washington Monument. Balthier wanted nothing more than to find the girl, but as Vaan groaned in disappointment, he realized that someone else had found Penny first.

Peering around the corner, he saw that damned Ghis and a few Pinkertons had cornered both Penny and the Lamont kid. Secretary Ondore was watching the entire scene with interest, but only stood quietly with his hand upon his cane. As he listened in, Balthier felt like an idiot for not even making the connection in the first place.

Ghis frowned at the young boy. "You shouldn't be around by yourself, Larsa. You've had Miss Drace worried sick." Fran's eyes widened, but Basch and Vaan still seemed confused.

"Larsa Solidor," Balthier muttered angrily. "Vayne's kid brother."

Penny struggled against the Pinkertons. "Please let me go! I was kidnapped!"

Ghis turned his pomade-greased head to scowl at the blonde. "Caught this one running towards the Capitol."

The Solidor boy seemed to be thinking quickly. He charged over and grabbed the girl's hand. Balthier imagined he was as shrewd and crafty as his older brother. "Mr. Secretary, you won't mind if I show my friend around your offices?"

Ondore seemed to be suppressing a smile. "Of course, Master Larsa. It is always a pleasure to see young people taking an interest in the way their government is run." The Secretary raised an eyebrow in challenge to Ghis, and the Pinkerton waved his hand in irritation and departed with his entourage.

Vaan tried to hurry after them, but Fran held his shoulder. "We let them go. Your friend is safe now."

Basch watched Ondore wander off with the children. "The Treasury department then?"

Balthier sighed. "No doubt Ghis will be back to pick up the little Solidor later. And that way leads to your Miss B'Nargin."

Fran shook her head and grinned. "Think we should call an ambulance for Bagamnan back there?"

He turned back to glance across the reflecting pool to the Memorial. "I don't think so, Fran. I think we have a more pressing engagement with a member of the President's Cabinet. Wouldn't you agree?"

-----

The Treasury Department headquarters loomed over the street imposingly, and Vaan couldn't help feeling that this was all getting more and more complicated as the days went on. Had it only been a week or so ago that he was just serving soup and bread to people at Miguel's place? Adam…no, Larsa had taken Penny here to Secretary Ondore's offices. But how on Earth could they get inside and meet with the man?

"Have you met the guy before?" Balthier asked Basch, and the older man shook his head.

"I only saw him in passing. He visited Raminas a few times. But I never spoke with him personally. Outwardly, he's a friend to the Solidors. One of their many puppets in the government."

Balthier smiled. "You've been locked up awhile, friend, but rumor has it that Ondore himself was funneling cash to the Banastre Workers' Union."

Basch looked incredibly surprised, and Fran nodded. "Unproven of course," she noted. "He's got a lot of sharp accountants around him. Strange way to show his patriotism and devotion to free enterprise."

Vaan cracked his knuckles. This all made very little sense to him, and what did it matter? The government was still letting Archadia get away with murder. What was a thousand dollars here or there to a big company like that? "Why are we standing out here in the cold talking about this? We need to get Penny out of there!"

Fran shook her head sympathetically. "Do you really think the Secretary of the Treasury would care to meet with criminals?"

"Of course not," Balthier responded, "which is why we're going to find a different way inside." He took out his wallet and marched off. Vaan scratched his head. What was this gangster's deal? They couldn't break into an armed building like the Treasury Department. Basch stood beside him with an equally confused look, but Balthier's partner seemed to instinctively know what he was planning.

Vaan watched Balthier approach a newsboy, and his mouth dropped open as the gangster handed over a stack of money. The kid promptly handed his cap and his stack of papers to a triumphant Balthier. The man wandered back to the group with his arms full and a wicked grin on his face. "Vaan, you've got a new job."

His arms were suddenly full of papers, and Fran settled the newsboy cap on his head with a smile. "What do you mean? How does selling newspapers get us inside?"

Balthier did not break his gaze from Basch. "Our pal Ondore thinks our friend here is dead or on the run. It would be of interest to him if Ronsenburg's glorious return was shouted to the rooftops." Basch's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest Balthier's scheme, but it was too late. "Now, now. There's no danger in this really. Surely Ondore will want a little meeting with the people who know the whereabouts of Raminas B'Nargin's murderer before it gets out."

Vaan still felt confused, but Fran gave him a wink. "It would give Ondore some ammunition against Ghis in any case." She ruffled his hair and smiled. "Just start screaming. You're good at that, kid."

Balthier gave him a shove. "Come on, we don't have all day. Get them to haul us all in."

He sighed. If it would help to find Penny, he'd do anything. The streets were more crowded than they'd been when they arrived at the Mall that morning. People were hurrying to and fro to their jobs in the Treasury Department. It would only take a few shouts about Basch to get them noticed. Basch, Fran, and Balthier leaned against the building and read newspapers of their own to stay unnoticed.

Vaan felt like an idiot, but he'd seen kids do this before. Couldn't be that hard. He held up the newspaper and shouted at the top of his lungs. "B'Nargin murderer walks the streets!" He felt horrible for saying that since Basch had been nice to him, but hopefully he would understand. A few people gave him a strange look and kept walking. It wasn't enough yet.

"R.A. Banastre's Ronsenburg is still alive!" A man actually shoved a few coins in his hand and took a newspaper. Vaan hoped the man wouldn't come back and yell at him when he read the paper and found no such story.

"Basch Ronsenburg breaks out of Archadia Industries' custody! Police say he'll kill again!"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Balthier laughing and giving him a thumbs up. He raised his voice even louder. "Basch Ronsenburg threatens to expose Secretary Ondore's connections with the Solidors!"

The papers were knocked out of his arms then, and he was dragged up the stairs into the Treasury building. His companions hurried after him, and Vaan smiled. It had actually worked!


	8. Chapter Seven

The cushioned seats and warm offices of the Treasury building were a definite improvement over her last accommodations. Penny had never met this young man before, and he didn't look that much older than Kytes, but she figured she was safer in a government building than locked in a hotel with gangsters.

The boy, who had introduced himself as Larsa on the way over, said that he'd met up with Vaan. He seemed to figure that Vaan would be arriving to pick her up any moment now. Secretary Ondore was apparently in meetings that morning, and that left her alone in some office with the boy. He was reading through a folder and had been fairly quiet since their arrival, and since she didn't know him, Penny wasn't in the mood to start a conversation. She just wanted to get back to Chicago where she belonged.

After a few more minutes, Larsa finally lifted his eyes from his papers. "Oh goodness, Penny, I'm sorry. Guess I got carried away with my French assignment." She had a feeling that it wasn't just some homework that Larsa was looking at since he'd been reading so intently.

He moved from his seat and sat in the chair next to her. She decided that small talk was the only way to get through this. From Larsa's clothes, Penny could tell that he was very rich. They probably had very little in common. "So Larsa, how come you're here in D.C. with Mr. Ondore?"

Larsa smiled. "Oh, he's good friends with my father and brother." Penny had to hold in a laugh at the proper way Larsa sat in his chair. He was like a miniature adult. "So I'm here with my nanny, Miss Drace. But I wasn't supposed to go off alone this morning. I'll be in trouble for sure." His eyes widened in realization of something. "Vaan said he was from Chicago. Are you from there too?"

She nodded. "I sure am…and I can't wait to get back. You see, I help out my guardian Miguel with his soup kitchen. With all the craziness, I haven't even been able to send a telegram home or anything to let them know I'm okay."

Larsa grinned. "Well, how about you go with me? I think Mr. Ghis is taking us to Chicago for a few days to visit my brother. When Vaan gets here, he can come too. We have a zeppelin, can you believe it?"

"A zeppelin?"

The boy seemed very proud of this achievement. Penny wondered what family could actually afford their own zeppelin. Larsa's voice was full of excitement. "It even has our family coat of arms painted on it. It's not the flagship of Archadia Industries for nothing!"

Penny could almost feel her stomach fall to the floor, and she had to break her eyes away from Larsa. "Archadia Industries? Your…your brother is Vayne Solidor?"

"Yes! I really look up to him. Father's entrusted the whole company to him now and…Penny, did I say something wrong?"

She realized that she was shaking in her chair. Archadia Industries, the company that was destroying her hometown. The company that laid off workers with no remorse and hired thugs to take people away from their families. "Larsa, I think I'll just let Vaan take me home."

Larsa moved to kneel in front of her, and she bit her lip at the sincerity in his expression. Of course, he was a kid. He probably had no idea how awful his brother or his family's company was. "Why don't you like Archadia? We brought lots of jobs to Chicago."

"You're wrong," she replied coldly. "Your brother has a bunch of dirty crooks tearing my city apart!" She immediately regretted her outburst as Larsa's face fell. He seemed utterly shocked. He'd probably lived his entire life thinking Archadia Industries was the best thing since sliced bread. "Larsa, I'm sorry. He's your brother, I shouldn't have said that. You just…" Penny's thoughts drifted to Rex and the sad state of her city. "You just don't know what it's like in Chicago right now."

Larsa grabbed her hand then suddenly, and she gasped. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and his eyes were serious. "I swear to you, Penny. If Archadia Industries is causing more harm than good, I promise to make it right. I'll talk to my brother. I may be young, but he listens to me."

She didn't know why she was entrusting the fate of Chicago to a twelve year old, but something in Larsa's expression gave her the feeling that he would do everything in his power to try and change things for the better. She hoped it would be enough.

-----

She remained standing because she knew the second her body touched the soft looking leather seat that she'd never want to get up. Fran felt incredibly out of place in the office just outside of Secretary Ondore's. Most of the workers going back and forth didn't give Basch or Balthier a second glance, and not even Vaan warranted special attention. But there was no hiding her skin in a government building. They had just met with Ondore's deputy secretary, Mr. Havharo, and he'd had the nerve to ask her to stay in the hall. Fortunately, Balthier had refused to disclose any information without her presence.

Fran tugged at a loose button on her coat while they waited. Nono had been furious the night before when they'd up and left not even an hour before opening. She wondered why the little man didn't just buy Balthier out. It was clear that her friend was more interested in flying and getting into trouble than running a business, but it was the speakeasy that earned them all the money to finance their various schemes.

Fran smirked at the thought. She was getting too old to be flying halfway across the country on a whim with her young friend, no matter how excited he got about his different capers. Balthier had given her a life, a real life, but she wondered how much longer she could keep up with him. She was already pushing forty, although Balthier was always the first to reassure her that she didn't look a day over twenty-five.

The door to Ondore's office opened and the man himself beckoned for them to enter. Balthier made a deliberate point to take her arm and escort her in, and she could hear the chatty secretaries in the office whispering frantically about it. Fran did her best to ignore their gossip. The office was well-furnished with a portrait of Alexander Hamilton hanging on the wall. Vaan stood in the corner and fidgeted nervously while Basch let his eyes wander over Ondore's bookshelves. Balthier released her arm and gave her his usual wink at the stir he'd intentionally caused out in the hall.

He extended a hand to Ondore and removed his hat and held it over his heart. Balthier was the smoothest talking twenty-two year old she'd ever known. Then again, he'd been the same way when she'd met him at nineteen. "Mr. Secretary, it's a pleasure. As your deputy has no doubt told you, we were recently incarcerated at an Archadia Industries facility with one Basch Ronsenburg."

Ondore shook her partner's hand and raised a shrewd eyebrow. "You caused quite the disturbance outside of my building, Mr. Bunansa."

Balthier chuckled. "Ah, well, the kid got overexcited. With what happened to his friend and all." Fran watched Vaan's expression darken in Balthier's direction at the obvious lie.

The Secretary sighed and leaned against his desk. "So what can you tell me about this Ronsenburg?"

Fran let her eyes drift to Basch, who was nervously thumbing through one of Ondore's books. She heard Balthier use his most obnoxious tone of voice for his big reveal. "Ronsenburg? Oh, didn't I mention this to your Havharo? He's the man standing right there."

The heavy book hit the floor with a thud, and Basch turned bright red. Fran didn't let her amusement show and did her best to appear unmoved entirely. Ondore's eyes narrowed. "I see," the Secretary muttered.

Basch held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Mr. Secretary, I did not…"

"Mr. Ronsenburg," Ondore interrupted coldly with a tap of his cane against the hardwood floor. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you arrested and taken to the Department of Justice right now."

Fran watched Basch shakily pick the book up from the floor and place it back on the shelf. She listened as the broken man described the imprisonment that had occupied him for the past two years at the hands of his own brother, the man who was probably the real killer of Raminas B'Nargin. Ondore listened to the story calmly, but Fran had a feeling that no matter what evidence Basch had against Archadia, it wouldn't be enough. A man in Ondore's position couldn't do very much at present.

Basch finished his story, but he hadn't yet mentioned Ashelia B'Nargin. The Secretary could also tell that Ronsenburg still had more to say. Ondore tapped his cane against the floor again. "But you did not come here only to claim innocence. I can see that as clear as day."

The engineer nodded. "It concerns a certain member of the Banastre Workers' Union." Ondore was a master of subtlety, but Fran didn't miss the flash of recognition in the old man's eyes. "That person being your niece, Ashelia."

"His niece!" Balthier exclaimed, launching himself from the seat he'd collapsed in. "That girl's his niece?"

Ondore was staggered, and he looked to Balthier quickly. "My sister married Raminas." This made things very interesting. No wonder Ondore had been funneling money to Chicago. He must have known the girl was still alive. Fran was thoroughly intrigued. He was a friend to the Solidors, but sneaking money behind their back to their enemy. A girl the city of Chicago had been told was long dead. The Secretary sat in his chair, their discovery of his connection to the B'Nargins clearly unsettling him. He leaned forward onto the desk and sighed wearily. "Ghis has her. And I cannot risk exposing what I have done for either side."

Basch stepped forward and stared down the Secretary. "I need your help. Ashelia needs your help."

Ondore shook his head. "I have my position to consider. I am sorry." The older man paused for a moment, and Fran saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Unless…"

Vaan interrupted Ondore then, thumping his fist on the man's desk in frustration. "What about Penny? She's my friend, sir, and she came here with Larsa." Instead of addressing Vaan, the Secretary held up a hand for quiet. He moved to the door and went out to speak with his secretary. Fran watched the woman's eyes widen.

"Yes, Mr. Ondore, they just left a moment ago. I can call down at the front and have them send a few Pinkertons up right now," she heard the woman say, and Fran knew that this would not end well.

Balthier sprinted to the door. "Hey! What do you think you're doing, pal?" She hurried over to hold Balthier back from committing a grave error in judgment. Punching a member of the President's Cabinet would surely land them in yet another prison that week. She found herself holding Balthier back from greater and greater lapses in judgment in recent days. He scowled at the Treasury Secretary, and she tightened her grip on his arm. Behind them, Vaan seemed more confused than anything, but Basch seemed surprisingly calm.

Ondore shooed them into the outer office once more and stroked his chin. "Mr. Ronsenburg, I trust you will find what you seek. I can do no more, obviously."

Basch nodded solemnly. "Thank you, sir."

"What are you thanking him for, you dolt?" Balthier sneered, and she gave his bicep a tight squeeze to shut him up. Ondore was far craftier than he appeared, and Balthier would probably admit that himself whenever he calmed down.

A few burly Pinkertons that Fran recognized from that morning as some of Ghis' entourage hurried into the room then and the one in front grinned. "These punks causing you trouble, Mr. Secretary?"

Ondore nodded. "Yes. Thank you for coming. I know your flight leaves shortly. Please escort these four to Mr. Ghis."

She heard Vaan struggle a bit as the Pinkertons moved to put handcuffs on him. Fran knew what was going on, and she and Basch calmly allowed the men to cuff them. Balthier was still shocked, but he was shaking his head in irritation. He seemed to have caught on finally as to their next destination. Fran could almost see the wheels turning in her partner's head. Would they ever be able to get the Trimotor back to Chicago? Kramer would get to build that new garden in his back yard with all the money they'd owe him for not bringing the plane back in a timely fashion.

The Pinkertons escorted them roughly through the back halls of the Treasury Building and to a service entrance at the rear of the building. A black car pulled off as they exited, and Fran thought she'd seen Penny in the back seat unaware of all the excitement. Another car was waiting, and they were all shoved into it.

Fran watched the sights of the capital whir past as the car headed off to some airfield. Vaan nudged her with his elbow. "Where are they taking us?"

She smiled. "To your Penny."

Balthier snorted grumpily, and Basch sighed. "I am sorry, Balthier. There was no other way."

"Couldn't just show him the stock papers?" her partner spat back.

She cleared her throat. "You yourself said we only have a fraction of the real certificates. It wouldn't have done anything to help us find Vaan's friend or Miss B'Nargin." Basch nodded in gratitude, and her partner seemed to grow even more infuriated.

He rolled his eyes. "So you're on his side now?"

"I'm not on any side," she replied calmly. Fran hid her smile by glancing back out the window. The smooth talking Balthier was still a petulant little boy when he didn't get his way. He was more like Vaan than he knew.

"Pipe down, all of you!" one of the Pinkertons shouted, waving a gun menacingly at them. The conversation ended, and Fran watched the car pass through a large gate. She could barely withhold a gasp at the large zeppelin looming ahead. It was one of the largest things she'd ever seen. Fran remembered zeppelins flying overhead during the war, and she'd grown to loathe the sight of them.

The car pulled up alongside the massive dirigible, and she saw the Archadia Industries' logo painted on the gondola and balloons. Sure, they now had access to Penny and Ashelia…but how on Earth would they get off of the thing once it took to the skies?

-----

**November 27, 1931**

**Murderer Ronsenburg Spotted in Chicago; Archadia Industries Offers Reward for Capture**

**By R. Zecht, Tribune Staff Reporter**

The city is abuzz today with the latest rumors concerning Basch Ronsenburg. The trail on the killer of R.A. Banastre's former CEO Raminas B'Nargin had run cold, but latest word is circulating that the man is alive and well in Chicago. An anonymous tip called in to the Chicago Police Department yesterday reported that a man matching Ronsenburg's description was walking the city streets.

Archadia Industries' CEO Vayne Solidor issued a statement this morning.

"Basch Ronsenburg may kill again. He will not rest until he has brought down Archadia Industries, having lashed out at R.A. Banastre because of our merger two years ago. I will personally offer a $10,000 reward for the capture of this dangerous man, a true threat to the continued stability and safety of this fine city."

With the disastrous fete a few nights ago, Solidor is losing ground in Chicago. Will the manhunt for Ronsenburg temporarily shift attention away from Archadia's plummeting fortunes in the Windy City?

-----

As he sipped his coffee, he was pleased to see that the day's headline once again mentioned Archadia Industries. Granted, most news about his company was negative in recent weeks, but it mattered very little in the long run. Keeping their name in the paper was enough. There was a knock at his office door then.

"Come in."

Noah Gabranth entered, his hat tipped low over his eyes to cover his shame. "You called for me, Mr. Solidor?"

Vayne set down his coffee cup and threw the paper across his desk at the man. "You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Gabranth. We were able to spin your incompetence into a manhunt." Since word had reached him about Ronsenburg's escape in Wisconsin, he'd been on damage control to prevent the press from getting wind of their holding facilities. They'd almost gotten the man to crack about the ingredients for the Greek fire, but the man's own brother had let him escape.

Gabranth shifted from foot to foot nervously. "I am very sorry, sir. He had help in escaping. No excuse, I know."

He sighed and rose from his chair. The city of Chicago and Lake Michigan beyond all seemed so very small and insignificant from high above. No matter what he did, this obstinate little town refused to fall into line. Production was down and morale was at an all-time low. When the B'Nargin girl had popped up a few days prior, he'd had no idea what to do. His first thought had been to send her off with Ghis. The man had ways of breaking people that Vayne truly envied. But now with Basch and the prisoners from the fete gone missing, he wished he could have just kept the girl here himself.

The Pinkerton produced a small telegram. "Sir, Ghis has managed to capture Ronsenburg in Washington."

"In Washington?" Vayne repeated in amusement. How on Earth had the man gotten from Wisconsin to Washington so quickly? Perhaps he really should have had those party crashers murdered. He thought of his brother traveling back on the zeppelin, now in the company of those criminals. "Interesting. Ghis will stop off in Cleveland to refuel and change pilots. I want you there to take Larsa home. Tell Drace to come up with some excuse. Send Ghis along with the prisoners. I want them alive for now."

"Even Ronsenburg?" Gabranth inquired hesitantly.

He smiled at that. "Your fraternity is moving, Noah." He waved his hand dismissively and sat back down in his chair. "He still knows enough to be useful. That's all for now. I'm expecting Dr. Bunansa any moment now."

As soon as the words left his lips, the office door opened and the scientist walked in as if he owned the place. The man was muttering to himself as usual, and Gabranth gave a curt nod and departed at Bunansa's arrival. Bunansa never liked getting dragged away from his precious laboratories to visit the "inferior" Chicago facilities, and the man appeared to be in his own little world as he always was. Nevertheless, his research was invaluable to Archadia.

Bunansa grinned almost wickedly as he approached the desk. "Ha, Vayne! It seems you're having a spot of trouble here? Bad luck with all your little parties, and now the company stock is in the toilet. Even the New York papers are teasing you."

Vayne smirked. Under the sunny disposition lay a shrewd, conniving mind, and Cid Bunansa was not one to ignore. If word of his poor management in Chicago was making the New York rounds, there would be definite trouble. "How is the old man? I bet he enjoys his cushy new office?" Even with the company bleeding funds, they'd moved their New York headquarters into the new Empire State Building just months earlier. His father claimed that it kept Archadia Industries "on top."

Cid chortled and helped himself to a cigar from the humidor on the desk. "Oh, business as usual in Manhattan. Board's about ready to find a dagger for your back." He lit the cigar and blew a perfectly round smoke ring in his direction. "But the building sure is nice. Even _my_ office is higher than the Chrysler Building."

Ever since his father had stepped down and granted him the chairmanship of the company, the board had been a thorn in his side. They considered Chicago a lost cause and wanted to pull out their support in R.A. Banastre. The Ronsenburg fiasco would just be another nail in his coffin. One of these days he needed to get back to New York and win back the old man's favor. Gramis Solidor had led Archadia Industries to greater and greater heights after the war, but he seemed to prefer the comforts of his office and a mere honorary title as President of the company to pressuring the Board of Directors. His son, however, thought Archadia Industries could do even better if the Board was eliminated entirely. He just needed more time…and the right formula.

Vayne scowled at Cid's joking tone. "The Board is welcome to try sacking me." He leaned back in the chair and let his gaze drift out the window. "You heard about Ronsenburg?"

Cid took another puff of the cigar. "Oh, news travels fast. But the last few formulas he sent were rubbish anyhow. We're close enough to getting it right that we don't even need the bastard's little hints."

Solidor shrugged. "Ghis will bring him in. Maybe you can coax the ingredients out of him. It appears that two years in lock-up did little to loosen his tongue."

The scientist pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Is this why you called me all the way here? So I can nag a fellow man of science? I assure you that I didn't get my doctorate in interrogation. That's what your thugs are for, Vayne."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "I thought it was best you hear this in person from me. Someone of interest to you is traveling with Basch Ronsenburg."

"Of interest to me?"

Vayne opened his desk drawer and took out the photograph. It had taken a great deal of cash to get the roll of film from the _Tribune_ fellow the other night, but a picture of Ashelia B'Nargin didn't need to get plastered on the front page of the Chicago papers. He slid the picture across the desk, and Cid examined it shrewdly.

"I see a girl?" the scientist muttered.

"Look at the fellow the girl is speaking to." Vayne knew the young man had looked familiar even in the low light of the sewers beneath R.A. Banastre, but now that Cid was here, it was as plain as day. The resemblance was uncanny.

Cid chuckled. "His mother always did love Chicago. Never would have pegged the boy as sentimental."

The scientist slid the photo back. Vayne examined it again. The B'Nargin girl was clearly shoving something in the man's hand, to the man's apparent amusement. They'd hauled him off to Wisconsin, and now he was traveling with Ronsenburg. "It is Ffamran, then?"

Dr. Bunansa nodded and put the cigar out in an ashtray on the desk. "In trouble as usual…and wasting his inheritance on all those fancy clothes." Vayne would have been surprised by Cid's lack of reaction if he didn't know the man so well. Any other father would at least have shown some interest in the whereabouts of his runaway heir after no news in almost five years, but Cid Bunansa was more of a parent to his research than his own child.

"Well, I just thought you would be curious. He'll be coming back to Chicago with Ghis as well. You're welcome to have a little reunion if you'd like," Vayne offered, but Cid was out of his chair and immediately dismissive.

"Do what you want. I have more pressing matters. We're farther along than your father suspects, and I imagine that we could run a test in a few weeks."

Finally, some good news, but even Vayne was surprised by Cid's casual tone. "Even without positive identification of all the ingredients? Is that wise?"

Bunansa opened the office door and looked back over his shoulder with a smirk. Clearly any thoughts of his son had already been replaced with his precious formulas and lab protocols once more. "I think Lady Luck's on my side. Perhaps all your bad news in Chicago will lead to our continued progress in New York, hmm?" The man laughed almost maniacally and slammed the door shut, no doubt on his way right back to the airfield.

A test in a few weeks? The thought would be enough to sustain him. Project Bahamut was finally going to become a reality.


	9. Chapter Eight

The zeppelin took off again, and Ashe wondered how long she'd be carted across the country on the Solidor family deathtrap. She examined her wrists with a sigh, the chafed skin there covered with her own dried blood. Why didn't they just kill her? She'd never tell them a damned thing about her father.

The cabin door opened with a whine, and one of the burly Pinkertons in Ghis' employ shuffled over to her. "Got some visitors, Miss B'Nargin. Come along and say hello," the greasy man drawled, hauling her up off the floor. Her limbs cried out, but she wouldn't allow herself to show this fool that it affected her. They wouldn't be breaking her, that was for sure.

The Pinkerton dragged her through the seemingly endless corridors of the flagship, the engines humming with power through the metal grating. Ghis waited for her on the bridge, the scent of his pomade reaching her before she even saw him. The man's lip curled at her arrival, and he signaled one of his thugs.

"My word, the lady's been a bit mistreated. Let's uncuff her for the guests," Ghis snarled. One of the Pinkertons dealt with the restraints on her aching wrists while the others kept their pistols and Tommy guns trained on her. They were in the air – where did they think she would go? "Show them in."

Clearly, Vayne's lackeys had picked up some more unwanted cargo in DC. Would they be cramming the new ones in the tiny room with her? Ashe had little time to ponder that as the other Pinkertons shuffled in people that were all too familiar. Vaan was at the front looking nervous, followed by a calm Fran and an irritated Balthier. But the fourth member of their merry little band made her blood run cold.

Her feet moved her quicker than the thugs could process, and she'd already slugged the bastard in the jaw before she heard all of the pistols in the room click. Basch Ronsenburg…what the hell was he doing alive? "You! You're supposed to be dead!" she shouted angrily as Ghis chuckled behind her, his pistol hovering beside her spine within seconds.

Another Pinkerton held her back, and she relented. This man had killed her father. She had worked tirelessly, exhausting what financial resources she still had to find him after going on the run, but nothing had ever turned up. It was almost as if he'd vanished from the face of the Earth – but here he was in the flesh after two long years.

Basch had been her father's most trusted employee, and she'd spent her share of time poking around the man's labs, learning more about chemistry than she ever thought she would. He'd been her friend. He'd been the truest friend R.A. Banastre could have had, but he'd sold them out to Vayne Solidor. "Bastard," she cursed him through gritted teeth.

"Now now," Ghis interrupted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and moving his stupid gun back to its holster. "Is that any way for a lady to act?" Basch looked to his feet, and she tried to ignore how much thinner he'd grown the past few years. He'd been in the war with Vossler, had been the burliest scientist she'd ever been acquainted with. But now…now Basch Ronsenburg looked like a changed man. Ashe looked away from him in disgust, finding Balthier observing the proceedings with an amused smirk. She wondered if the gangster had any other facial expression.

Ghis wasn't letting her go, and she was surprised he hadn't slapped the cuffs back on her after her violent attack. "You shouldn't expect me to play nice around the man who murdered my father," she replied.

"Ah, so they say," Ghis answered. "Come now, thieves. Let's show a little respect for the dead. You do realize you stand in the company of the late Ashelia Amalia B'Nargin?"

They weren't as surprised as she'd expected, but her face had been in the papers when she was younger. It appeared that her "Amy" persona had only fooled them for a short while. Ghis continued blathering on. The Pinkerton loved to talk. "Not that this young lady has any proof that she is who she claims to be…"

Ashe sighed. It wasn't like she carried her birth certificate on her. She tuned out Ghis' ramblings, her eye catching on a leather case one of the Pinkertons was holding onto at Basch's side. How in the hell had Balthier and the others even found Basch, much less drag him off to DC with them? The man was unworthy of even leaving a blasted fingerprint on her father's stock papers.

Ghis' grip tightened around her, and she balled her hands into fists. "But seeing as how your father left you everything and you seem to be among the living, Mr. Solidor is hoping you'll happily sign over the contents of the case my friend is holding there."

She shook the man off. "I'd rather eat the rancid stuff you put in your hair!"

The Pinkertons aimed their weapons anew at the group of them, and Vaan gave her an expectant look. "Amy, stop, you're going to get us all killed. Vayne wins that way, too, you know!" She relented, her shoulders slumping.

She didn't much care what the Pinkertons did. She was as good as dead, wasn't she? Even if word got out that she was alive, Vayne would cover it up and keep those papers. But she supposed that she didn't need the others' deaths on her conscience. The man with the case handed it over to Ghis, and she closed her eyes. Luckily, those weren't everything her father had…but how would she get the key to the safe deposit box now if Ghis had the case?

"Look, you've got the papers," Vaan argued. "You got what you wanted. Why don't you let us go?"

Ghis grinned. "Watch your mouth, kid." He turned to his grunts, and Ashe frowned. Back to lock-up. They could forge her name for all she cared. "Let's make our guests comfortable, but we don't need them sharing quarters with Miss B'Nargin. Can't let our precious little debutante share oxygen with crooks and murderers." Ghis waved them off, and Ashe watched Basch, Fran, Balthier and Vaan get shoved off the bridge and down the hall.

The leather case was waved in her face then, Ghis' grin looking positively demonic in her estimations. "I won't sign anything. My father willed it to me. It's mine, and it will hold up in court."

He smiled, his yellowed teeth making her ill. "I don't think you'll be seeing any judges, Miss." He gestured for one of his thugs. "Bring our girl back to her room. Keep her nice and presentable for Mr. Solidor. Maybe he's finally figured out what he's going to do with her."

Ashe dragged her feet back to the tiny little room, frowning as they clamped the restraints back on her cracked and bloody wrists. Nice and presentable. Right.

--

"You do realize how much those stocks were worth, don't you? Why didn't you ditch them at Ondore's place? The man had a veritable garden in that office of his and you couldn't find one damn plant to stash it behind?" Balthier growled at him, but he did his best to ignore the man's fury.

Fran sat beside him on the floor, her smirk implying that Balthier was always hotheaded and to ignore him. Basch could still feel the sting in his jaw. Little Ashie B'Nargin sure could throw a punch. Raminas would have been proud. She wasn't exactly happy to see him – but Basch couldn't blame her. There wasn't really a lot of evidence out there to clear his name of Raminas' murder, other than his word.

They were locked up in some kind of holding room, and Basch was amazed at how large the Solidors' zeppelin was. It was like a floating palace, and he had a hard time imagining what kind of money the family had to shell out to keep her in the air. They were probably not far from the engine room, and he wondered if there was any way to get out. Surely there had to be parachutes somewhere.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Those weren't all of Raminas' papers, Balthier. Not even a third of them. Even if she signed them over, there's still plenty of them out there. They wouldn't have majority ownership. But that's if they even let it get out that she's alive."

Fran wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head down. "They won't, you know that. You know they will kill her. Us too."

Vaan gulped and began pacing the room nervously. "Well, can't we do a jail break or something? We got out of that other place no problem!"

Balthier shook his head. "We're several hundred feet up, moron. How hard can you flap your arms?"

A knock at the door silenced their conversation then, and they all tensed. Out the airlock with all of them then? But Basch was startled when Vossler entered, closing the door quickly behind him. There weren't any guards in the hallway. Vossler must have bribed them for time with the prisoners. Balthier and Fran were confused, but Vaan's wide eyes and smile did a good job conveying that Vossler was friend and not foe. Or so Basch hoped.

"Imagine my surprise when I got to DC and discovered that Ashie wasn't the only one being held by Solidor's goons," Vossler retorted, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door.

Basch rose to his feet and eyed his old friend warily. "I thought you had your big meeting with Mr. Solidor. What the hell are you doing here?"

Vossler chuckled. "I did get my meeting. Five hours of waiting and three minutes of face time. Mr. Solidor said I'd find an old friend in DC if I made Mr. Ghis' acquaintance, and so I have. Here I was thinking I'd raced in to save the day…"

Vaan tugged on Vossler's suit coat. "Mr. Azelas, you have to get us out of here." Balthier and Fran introduced themselves quickly, and Vossler looked around with a shake of his head.

"Quite a crew you've amassed here, Basch. Like the old regiment days, but with gangsters instead of dough boys," he muttered. "Look, you were right. Vayne's not one you can negotiate with. Let's get Ashelia out of here before Archadia Industries gets to claim another victim."

Balthier raised his hand like an irritating pupil. "Would anyone like to take into account the fact that we're on board a zeppelin? Just me then?"

Basch could already tell that Vossler and Balthier were not going to become fast friends. His friend sneered at the gangster. "Please, stay on board all you want, but zeppelins need fuel, pal. And this baby's landing in a field outside of Pittsburgh in twenty minutes." That shut Balthier up pretty quick, but Basch was still unsure.

"And how are we getting past the Pinkertons? The war's been over a long time, Vossler," he reminded his friend. "And we're not getting any younger."

Basch noticed for the first time that Vossler was carrying a briefcase, and he opened it. The only contents were a book of matches, a few handkerchiefs, and a flask of what Basch could only imagine was the finest whiskey Prohibition could buy.

Vossler grinned. "Now I'm not the chemist here, but the last thing a big ship full of hot air needs is a fire, right?"

--

Basch's friend was a drunken bastard, Balthier had concluded, but if he was the one getting them out of the Pinkerton lock-up, then he'd live with it. Vossler had kindly picked all of their cuffs and as soon as the ship had set down, they'd started a fire in the hall just outside their holding room. Their lackeys were busy dumping water on it by now. Every corridor in the damned place looked the same to Balthier. Leave it to the Solidors to have a labyrinth of hallways in their dirigible that would have made the Minotaur applaud, he thought bitterly.

If he had his way, he'd sneak up to the bridge and snatch back the stock papers, but he supposed that the smoke or the Pinkertons' gunfire would end that quickly. He smirked as Fran soaked a handkerchief and lit it, dropping it behind them and sending up some black smoke to blind their pursuers. They raced through the halls and down to where they were holding Amy. Well, he supposed he'd better get used to calling her Ashe now. He figured they were stuck together now – she'd need transport back to Chicago, and the plane was in DC. She and Vossler wouldn't be able to take the train from Pittsburgh – the Pinkertons would count on it.

Vossler raced on ahead, Basch at his heels while he and Fran brought up the rear. Vaan was nervously handing out matches every few minutes, and it seemed the excitement was a bit much for a kid. Any minute, one of the sparks could set the whole place up even though they were sitting in a grassy field. Who knew how many fuel tanks were outside giving the Solidor flagship a proper fill-up?

They busted into the room, and he saw Ashe's face light up at Vossler's arrival only to darken when she saw the rest of them behind him. Ungrateful, that's what this dame was. The lawyer picked her cuffs, and she rose hesitantly to her feet, stumbling like a drunk. Her wrists were in nasty shape, but she was otherwise unhurt. Had Ghis even been feeding her?

"Vossler, how did you…" Ashe began, but the older man shook his head.

Vaan was shaking in his shoes. "Um, we need to get out of here, come on!"

Balthier peeked down the smoky hall behind them and ducked quickly as bullets started whizzing past his ears. "They're sure a risky bunch of idiots aren't they, shooting guns in a zeppelin." He waved his hand. "Come on, Princess, let's go."

Ashe scowled at him briefly for the nickname before turning to look at Basch. "I don't want anything to do with you."

"We'll have time for that later," Vossler said. "Come on." Ashe sighed and followed them out into the hallway, and they raced towards the exit hangar.

"They will shoot us. We'll come out, and they will pick us off!" Fran argued as they hurried.

"It would blow them all to pieces if one of them catches a fuel tank or a gas jet or something," Vossler explained. They were just to the exit when another unexpected pair met up with them, both of them coughing from all the smoke in the dirigible's halls.

"Vaan!" It was Penny, Vaan's girl, and Larsa Solidor, the shrewd little thing. The girl and Vaan embraced, and everyone was one big happy family again. How many more people would come crawling out of the Solidor family zeppelin that day? Balthier was beginning to think of it as more of a clown car than anything else.

Larsa approached Ashe cautiously, his hands raised to show he wasn't armed like the rest of the goons in his family's employ. For her part, she was confused. It wasn't as if the B'Nargins and the Solidors had done much mingling in the olden days. "I am Larsa Solidor. You must be Ashelia B'Nargin?"

"What's it to you?" Ashe fired back, and young Larsa was flustered.

"Well, you see, you're alive…and you're not supposed to be." The boy was clearly upset. Perhaps his perfect little world was collapsing in on itself. Balthier remembered a time when he was as innocent about Archadia Industries' true nature as Larsa. But that was all long ago. "Look, my family has obviously wronged you, and I'm going to make it right, you have my word."

"Then get us out of here," Vossler told him.

Larsa nodded. "Ghis is just outside. He went out to check on the fueling when you all staged your escape, so there's no way out here. Follow me."

Balthier sighed. Another trip through the maze. They hurried off after Larsa, up the metal stairs and past rooms that were far more hospitable and opulent than where they'd all been held. Ah, the Solidors' personal berths. His fingers were itching to snag a trinket or two, but he could still hear Pinkertons racing around.

They followed Larsa into a fancy room at the end of the corridor, the smoke not having reached the upper levels of the zeppelin gondola. The kid was just undoing the rope ladder out the window when they all heard a pistol cock behind them. He could just sense Ashe fuming behind him as he stood in front of her protectively. Why he was doing anything nice for the selfish woman, he didn't understand.

Larsa crossed his arms. "Mr. Ghis, I can have you fired for this."

Ghis raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I can't touch a hair on your precious little head, boy. Miss Drace would kick me from here to Indochina."

The kid was braver than Balthier would have imagined. He walked away from them and stood directly in Ghis' line of fire. "You'll have to do a lot more than rip my hair out, Mr. Ghis." Larsa turned back to them. "Go on, get out of here!"

The Pinkerton chortled. "My, won't your brother be amused by this. Get out of the way, little one!" Larsa didn't budge, and Ghis scowled, his gaze switching from the kid to Ashe. Vaan and Vossler were already halfway out the window and onto the rope ladder. "Miss B'Nargin, I figured you'd be one to turn tail and flee, just like your father."

Basch stepped in front of Ashe as well, and Balthier peeked back to see the girl's eyes brimming with tears, and she looked about ready to strangle Ghis herself. "You know nothing of my father," the girl whispered.

Ghis smiled. "Oh, he was a coward. Hid behind his desk when we stormed the place. I watched him beg Mr. Gabranth like a dog…"

"Stop it!" Ashe howled, and he and Basch both had to keep her from running straight into a bullet from the Pinkerton.

"Get her out," Basch ordered, and with the way Larsa was shaking with nerves, there was no time to waste. Fran hurried to the window and started climbing out while he half-carried, half-dragged the hysterical girl to the rope ladder. She struggled valiantly and probably would have snapped his suspenders to get away, but he hoisted her up and out the window, leaving her no choice but to grab hold and climb her way down.

He didn't get to see whether Larsa won his standoff, but once they were all out the window and down on the ground, Ghis would obviously take off and have them all after him. They were in a field, the fueling station around the far side. Vossler was already waving them in the direction of a barn, and he hurried along with the others. He wasn't in the mood to get shot to pieces in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.

The barn yielded even more good fortune, and he watched Fran's face light up at the sight of an old Ford TT truck. She had the hood open in seconds, her shrewd eyes examining the engine. Vaan was nearly bursting in excitement, and Balthier was already hearing shouts outside. They had to get a move on. Fran shut the hood with a nod and climbed behind the wheel and worked quickly to get it started.

"I hope the farmer won't mind," Basch muttered, helping Ashe and Penny onto the back of the truck while Vaan joined Fran in the cab.

"Could I drive, Fran?" the boy asked, and Balthier smiled.

Fran's face normally provided the only answer someone needed, but Vaan was a bit dense. "Are you mad?" his partner told him as she got the truck running. It was a noisy sucker. Vaan shrugged, and Balthier hopped onto the back with the others. He watched Basch say a silent prayer as Fran gunned the engine. The man hadn't been too fond of Fran's driving before, but what they needed was speed and Fran was the quickest driver he knew. Her driving had gotten them out of dozens of scrapes, and this would be no different. They barreled through the barn wall with a crash of wood on metal, but the truck was sturdy enough to make it.

A bullet zinged past the side of the truck, and Balthier looked behind them to see a whole slew of Solidor goons trying to race after them on foot. "Get down!" he shouted, pushing Penny down to the floor of the truck bed as Fran pushed the truck to the limit down the farm's dirt road, the engine noisily chugging along. The Pinkertons couldn't really compete without another vehicle, and they were soon in the clear.

"Where the hell are we?" Ashe asked once they found their way to a state road, her anger not dissipating one bit even though they'd all risked their necks to get her out. Ghis had clearly rattled her, and then when he'd nearly tossed her out the window, Balthier realized it had probably not endeared himself to her.

"Pennsylvania, an hour east of Pittsburgh," Vossler informed her. "Chicago's not safe. We'll get you to your uncle's."

Ashe frowned. "What does he care? He treated me as though I was dead."

That wasn't true, Balthier wagered. He knew the old man had been sending her little workers' movement cash. Maybe it was just one more thing this Vossler had hidden from her . They drove past a sign, and DC was still a couple hundred miles to go. It would be a long drive, and Balthier didn't much relish the sleep he'd be getting in the back of the truck, but he didn't have much choice.

He'd just be happy to get back to DC, get his plane, and get the hell away from all these crazy people. Then maybe his life could get back to normal.

--

The truck's bouncing was keeping her awake. Penny really couldn't believe the company she was keeping these days. A gangster, his beautiful German partner, a lawyer, a chemist, and now a very much alive R.A. Banastre heiress. She and Vaan were pretty boring by default. The girl, Ashe, rested her head on the lawyer's shoulder as they continued their drive back to DC. The gangsters had promised to fly them all back to Chicago once they all got cleaned up at Secretary Ondore's place.

To think that that older man was Ashe's uncle! It was a pretty small world. She hoped that Larsa was okay, but he'd assured her that the Pinkertons wouldn't dare try to hurt him. That thought comforted her as the truck kept roaring down the highway. They'd only stopped twice – once for a much needed fueling up and the next time when Vaan had irritated Fran into making a bathroom stop. Basch was taking his turn behind the wheel now, and Fran was getting some rest on the lawyer's other shoulder. Vossler didn't seem to mind much.

Balthier was humming some tune beside her on the truck bed. She smiled when she recognized it. She'd know it anywhere – Kytes was positively glued to the radio every day. "Little Orphan Annie. Really?" she whispered.

He was startled by her interruption and scowled at her. "What's wrong with Little Orphan Annie?"

Penny shrugged, the handsome gangster's attention making her blush. "It doesn't really strike me as something a person like you would listen to. It's a kids program, you know."

Balthier smirked. "I like the dog."

"Sandy?"

He nodded. "I never had one as a kid, so…" His voice trailed off, his eyes growing unfocused and distant. Perhaps there was a lot more to this Balthier than anyone knew. He was awfully nice for a bootlegger and criminal, she had to give him that.

She remembered something then and reached into her coat pocket. "Here's your handkerchief back."

His look brightened considerably, and she could tell that he'd completely forgotten about it. "Well, Penny. Vaan is lucky to have someone with a brain around him." The gangster clutched the handkerchief to his chest and gave her a wink. "I'll wear it close to my heart."

She rolled her eyes. What a flirt! Penny had to look away from his devilish eyes. She wondered how Fran could put up with the man's behavior all the time. They passed a road sign – only seventy miles left, thankfully. She tried to rest, but Ashe and Vossler started whispering across from them, and she couldn't help overhearing.

He was digging through his wallet and handing over a sizeable amount of bills. Penny hadn't seen that much money before, and Vossler was just casually shoving it into Ashe's hand. "Look, just take it. You can get some new clothes and pay them back for rescuing you."

Penny heard Balthier chuckle quietly, but he was pretending to be asleep. Ashe stuffed the money in her pocket. "You can't leave me with that man, Vossler." Penny had the impression that Ashe wasn't referring to Secretary Ondore.

"Basch wants to help you. You heard Ghis in there...he was there when your father…" Vossler gave Ashe's hand a squeeze. "Look, I think Basch was framed, okay? That Pinkerton Gabranth is his brother."

Ashe looked down in her lap, and Penny felt sorry for her. She'd lost her parents, but they hadn't been murdered like Ashe's father had been. The girl nodded. "I just…I don't know. I know you wouldn't steer me wrong, Vossler, but why can't I come back with you?"

The lawyer shook his head. "You need to lay low. Ondore will keep you safe, and it's going to take ages for the courts to even look at your case. You know Solidor would just kill you if you go back to Chicago now. Let me go. They know I helped you, but I'm pretty good at keeping my head down."

Ashe looked frustrated, and Penny couldn't blame her. She wanted to get back to Chicago too, but she got to leave as soon as Balthier's plane was ready again. Ashe wasn't so lucky. A few weeks earlier, Penny wouldn't have known what it was like to have her life in danger, but with the gangsters and the Pinkertons, she was finally realizing how dire the situation with Archadia Industries was.

Their journey ended a few hours later as the truck pulled up to a rather large estate in Arlington, Virginia – Secretary Ondore's massive home was even more impressive than his fancy offices in the capital. It was late, and the man was rather surprised to see them. He greeted them at the door in his pajamas and slippers. Ondore's staff hurried them all inside, and they were each given their own guest room for the night. Penny had always shared with someone, so the fresh linens, fluffy pillows and bubble bath were very much welcome.

Ondore had some of his staff drive into the city to buy clothes for everyone, and Penny watched out the window as Vossler got in a cab. Ashe sat down on the porch steps, clearly upset. Vaan had told her that Ashe didn't really have any other trusted friends. Penny couldn't imagine how hard it was for her. She moved away from the window and settled herself under the covers. In the morning, she'd have new clothes and would be on her way home. But it seemed like Ashe's troubles were far from over.


	10. Chapter Nine

It had been nearly a full day since he'd last been in the presence of Secretary Ondore, but the man's demeanor had changed greatly with the arrival of his niece. Basch watched the older fellow's eyes, saw the way they softened whenever Ashe would start arguing with him. And argue she did, and had been doing for at least the past hour.

He was fairly tired himself after the long drive, and he longed to get upstairs to the guest rooms where the smarter of his companions, Fran and Penny, were already tucked in for the night. Vaan, ever curious, was watching events unfold here in Ondore's study, but even the young man was growing exhausted. Basch watched him hide several yawns behind his hand as Ashe tried bargaining for her freedom. Balthier, occupied with his own fortunes, was clearly waiting around to see if Ondore would cough up some money for a reward. It obviously wasn't enough for a man like him to have a new shirt on his back – Balthier's game was much more complex.

"Vossler never told me that you sent the Workers' Union any money," Ashe said sadly. Though Vaan sat near to snoozing in an old leather seat and Balthier leaned on the corner of Ondore's desk, Ashe was wide awake and standing completely straight. Her years and years of poise and etiquette instruction had seemingly not disappeared during her time in hiding.

Ondore sat back in his chair before the fire, tapping his cane lightly against the Persian rug. "Your friend Azelas could not have told you. The money was given discretely through other accounts of mine. It would have put us both at risk if you'd known, my dear."

She slammed her hand on the desk, jolting Balthier mid-snooze. "This is all past us now, Uncle. Together with your contacts in the government, we could bring the Solidors down!"

Halim rose to his feet with a sigh, shuffling over to his niece. "It doesn't seem so long ago that you wanted me to carry you around in my arms."

"Then you will help me?"

Ondore frowned. "What you ask is impossible. By all accounts, you are dead and with the Solidors' hold on Congress, we must wait and strike them at a more vulnerable time."

Basch knew from the papers that Archadia Industries' stock had been fluctuating of late, but holding strong with the anticipated announcement of their Project Bahamut. He had a sickening feeling in his gut that Project Bahamut was exactly what Raminas had feared – the secrets of R.A. Banastre in the hands of the enemy. But how much did Ashe know of her father's business?

"I cannot just sit here and wait!" she protested.

Her uncle shook his head. "What would you have me do, Ashelia? I cannot change the state of the government and neither can a dead girl."

Basch watched Ashe's lower lip tremble, but years of knowing her told him that she'd wait until she was long gone from the room before letting tears show. The girl needed rest, that much was certain. Her eyes were almost as a raccoon's, and he knew that her sleep in the truck had been troubled. And then days in captivity aboard the Solidors' zeppelin had probably drained her of her remaining energy. Balthier chose that awkward moment to press his case.

"Well, I've a plane to fly in the morning. Don't suppose there's a going rate for rescuing the nieces of Washington bigwigs, is there?"

Ashe didn't even look at the gangster as she walked slowly from the room in defeat, closing the door behind her with a firm click. Ondore sighed heavily. "That can be arranged."

The gangster grinned broadly, and Basch was disgusted. "The usual," Balthier requested. "I did see a bottle of brandy over there. Mind if I help myself?

Basch nodded politely to Ondore and followed Ashe from the room. The girl didn't trust him, and he had nowhere to go. They had nothing but the luxury of time ahead of them now. Vossler had given her over to his care now, and as the both of them were dead or missing, perhaps she'd warm up to him once more. He recalled the way she used to sit at his laboratory table in a too large lab coat, her eyes lighting up at the different color liquids in each of the beakers. Basch was determined to keep her safe – Raminas had wanted it.

He climbed the staircase and saw her enter her room at the end of the hall. Tomorrow, they'd start again. Basch opened his own door and couldn't resist the allure of the bed within. Two years in a dank prison made even a dingy hotel the lap of luxury – Ondore's home was like to be his best sojourn until he entered the gates of Heaven itself.

--

He heard the door next to his click. A glance out the window let him know that it wasn't even light out yet. The footsteps in the hall were quick, and then he heard another door at the opposite end of the hall open quietly. Vaan couldn't resist. Who was sneaking into who's room? Pretty scandalous, he thought. Creeping to the door softly, he looked through the keyhole and saw that whoever was sneaking around had gone into Balthier's room.

Vaan sighed. He'd seen Penny talking to Balthier in the truck, but she wasn't stupid enough to sneak into a gangster's room, flirt or not. He supposed that it was Fran. Who knew what kind of plots those two criminals got up to? Though at first he'd suspected that Balthier and his German friend were a little bit more than friends, Fran had laughed at his inquiry in the truck cab earlier that day. She'd explained it in that clipped accent of hers.

"Balthier…" she'd chuckled then, gripping the steering wheel. "He is…he is meine Sonne."

"Your son?" he replied, flabbergasted at the thought. Fran didn't look old enough, and she'd laughed heartily at his reaction.

"Not son as in child, sun as in the sky. He is so bright, so alive." Her manner was more solemn then. "Meine Sonne in a very dark time." When he'd prodded Fran for more, she'd declined to elaborate. Whatever things were between her and Balthier, they were far from conventional. But either way, they were good friends to have in a bind, Vaan wagered.

So he was surprised then when Fran didn't emerge from Balthier's room moments later, but someone else. He watched her clutch something to her chest as she hurried down the stairs. What business did Ashe have with Balthier? He couldn't help being curious and opened his door quietly. Waiting at the top of the staircase, he saw Ashe pick up the phone Ondore had on an end table at the foot of the steps.

She asked the operator to connect her with the College Park Airport. That was where Balthier's plane was – just what was this girl up to? Ashe had her back to him, so he slid down a few steps on his bottom, trying to peek over her shoulder at whatever she'd stolen from Balthier's room. She was fully dressed in some new clothes, a pleated skirt and blouse far different from the men's pants and oversized shirt Vaan had seen her in on their first meeting.

"Hello, do you have any pilots available? I have a plane all set and just need someone to fly me to Chicago. I can pay cash up front."

Vaan's eyes nearly bulged from his head. This girl was going to steal Balthier's plane right out from under his nose! Ashe tapped her fingers on the table nervously as the person on the other line spoke with her.

"Yes, it's a…Ford Trimotor," she said shakily, glancing over the papers she'd taken. "I've got the registry number right here."

Since the Pinkertons were probably still looking for them, there was no way he was letting this girl steal his only ride home! He decided to stand up and announce his presence. "Ashe, what are you doing?"

She gasped, nearly dropping the receiver. He watched her set the phone back in its cradle as she slowly turned around. Vaan moved down the stairs until he was eye to eye with her. "This is something I have to do," she explained feebly. "I can't just sit here."

He didn't know whether he was furious with her for being so selfish or impressed at the lengths she'd go to in order to get what she wanted. "That's Balthier's plane you're trying to steal."

Ashe shook her head immediately when he said 'steal.' He watched her keep the information about Balthier's plane close to her. Did she think he was going to snatch it from her? "It's not stealing. I was going to pay the pilot to fly back and…"

"Are you crazy? He's a gangster, Ashe! Besides, Vossler said to stay with your uncle and Basch…"

"Look!" she said, raising her voice in exasperation. "You don't even know me! There's something I need. It's in Chicago so just…go away." He watched her pick up the telephone receiver again. "I need to concentrate."

"That's quite enough, sweetheart."

Vaan and Ashe both jumped at the sound of Balthier's voice. He was in one of Ondore's bathrobes, taking the stairs two at a time. He'd obviously been getting his beloved bath while Ashe made off with his things. The girl's grip on the phone was shaky, and Vaan could hear the operator asking what number she wanted to dial through the ear piece.

Balthier was taller than them both, and even in the fluffy bathrobe he still could be fairly threatening. He had eyes only for Ashe, who'd tempted fate and dared to steal from a thief. Vaan stood there uncomfortably as Balthier took the papers back from her. "I'm leaving you here in the morning."

"You can't!" she protested, her voice strained from both exhaustion and from her little plot being discovered.

Balthier quirked an eyebrow at that. Vaan watched him grab onto one of her wrists, still reddened and obviously sore from whatever restraints the Pinkertons had put on them. She whimpered at the contact, loosing her grip on the phone. Balthier released her and took the phone from her, placing it back. He shook his head. "Trust me, you're safer here anyhow."

Ashe rubbed her sore wrist, but she was not yet defeated, that much Vaan could tell right away. "Well, what if you kidnapped me tomorrow?" Balthier was confused, and Vaan equally so. "You're a thief and a criminal, so steal me. Is that so much to ask?"

Vaan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Ashe really didn't want to stay behind in D.C., did she? But what business did she have in Chicago that was worth risking her life…and by all rights, all of theirs? Balthier had the same idea. "What do you have that I would want?"

Ashe swallowed nervously at the edge on Balthier's words, and Vaan wasn't exactly sure what the man was getting at. Well, he had an idea, but he didn't really want to think about it. There were girls in his neighborhood that had only ended up in trouble after making bargains with gangsters. Sullied virtue, Miguel always said, warning Penny about the company she kept.

Her words were hesitant, almost desperate. "There's a bank vault. My father has more papers there, and if we could get them…"

"Then you'd let me help myself to any other safety deposit box in there?"

Ashe nodded. "I keep my father's papers, you…do what you do best."

"I suppose I can see the positives of this plan, Miss B'Nargin," Balthier acknowledged with a grin.

A voice cleared at the top of the steps, and their secret meeting was no longer very secret. Basch, himself in a set of Ondore's monogrammed pajamas, was already looking angrily at Balthier. "You'd dare take her away from here? Don't you have enough people after you?"

"Oh, pardon me, but which of us has gone missing from a two year confinement in Solidor custody? Which of us is the target of a manhunt?"

Basch sighed noisily and placed his hands on Ashe's shoulders. "If you go, I'm coming along too. Vossler won't like this."

Vaan was surprised that Ashe did not shove him away. She merely nodded, and their group of four was soon joined by Penny and Fran. Soon enough, the entire staff at Ondore's estate would know what was going on. Penny had just been roused from sleep and clung to his arm. She rubbed her eyes. "I'm coming too," she said around a yawn. "And don't fight me on it."

"Aww, Penny…"

Fran tapped the banister of the staircase for attention. "Well, if we're going to be proper kidnappers, I think it's best we get out of here before we wake up Secretary Ondore?" She moved down the stairs and started calling for a cab.

Balthier nodded, grabbing Ashe's arm before she or Basch could protest. "This one's not leaving my sight. Tried to steal my damn plane!" They all hurried upstairs quietly, packing what little they had. The staff didn't even notice as they hurried off the estate and into a waiting pair of taxi cabs. They were in the sky just as the sun rose over the capital.

--

He had to admit, the new building was impressive. The Empire State Building was massive, absolutely massive. Noah couldn't sit still outside Mr. Solidor's office, and a glance out the plate glass windows yielded spectacular views of Manhattan and beyond. Of course, he was happy to be on this side of the glass and not the other. It was a long way down from the Archadia Industries' offices to the streets of New York City below.

Though he was in deep shit with Gramis Solidor's son in Chicago, he hoped that it was not the case with the father. He didn't like to play off the two of them, knowing how shaky the relationship between the elder Solidor and his older son could be. Gabranth had messed up. His brother…Basch Ronsenburg, rather, he told himself, had escaped. And with him, he'd potentially taken the last bits of information that would be of use to that lunatic Bunansa in the labs.

But Gramis was more concerned with current projects than Vayne's pipe dreams, and if Noah Gabranth knew his boss, he knew that Vayne's Project Bahamut nonsense was just days away from getting shut down for good. He didn't care much what that Project was, although it had been interesting to watch his pathetic brother find excuse after excuse to worm his way out of coughing up information about it. Probably some stupid weapon, and in a time of peace after that long war, he doubted that Archadia Industries really needed to invest in something like that.

The latest telegrams had just come through. Ghis had lost Ashelia B'Nargin and the whole crew he'd captured, so Noah knew he was probably off the hook. There was no way Ghis was getting out of this one. The secretary cleared her throat behind him. "Mr. Gabranth? Mr. Solidor will see you now."

He turned away from the windows and nodded. It was easier seeing the old man than his power-hungry kid, but either way, this was the family that had bought up his block and turned it into a polluted dump. But they cut his checks and paid more than any other place would for someone who'd barely gotten out of high school. Gramis Solidor's desk was the largest he'd ever seen, and even though the old man was more of a figurehead these days, his word still meant a lot and the board was under his thumb. And Vayne knew it.

But the noisy cough of the man in the grand leather chair was not a good sign. He moved to stand before Mr. Solidor's desk while the old man stifled his coughing in a handkerchief. Noah saw the droplets of blood on the silk before Gramis shoved it in his pocket. "Gabranth, my eyes and ears. What do you think of the new offices?"

He nodded politely. "Quite a view, Mr. Solidor. Trumps the old buildings, that's for sure."

Gramis rose from his chair unsteadily, using the desk for support. He waved a thin piece of paper at him. "Received your telegram the other day. Who funds Bahamut? Stop. In all the Chicago papers. Stop. Bunansa visiting Vayne." Gramis set the message down. "Stop."

Noah inclined his head. "You wished to know of your son's doings in Chicago, sir."

"Cidolfus," Gramis mused with a wry grin. "Should never have plucked him from his ivory tower, hmm?"

"Sir?"

The older man coughed again, and it was growing very uncomfortable in the room. "Columbia, department of chemistry. Stole him away, promised him bigger labs…less lecturing." Gramis smiled. "What I would give for a mind like his."

"His son turned up in Chicago, sir." Noah didn't much care for the nuances of day to day business. His job was protecting company interests, not gossiping about employees. But Gramis paid him well.

The old man nodded. "Not like Cid missed him. Shame really." He hobbled over to the window, looking out at the city stretching far off toward the horizon. "Speaking of sons that seek to leave the parent's nest…"

"Does the board even know what this project is, sir?"

Gramis shook his head. "My son's ambitions and desires are a mystery even to me, Gabranth. I have grown so old and wealthy that I see nothing but accounts ledgers and ticker tape…" Solidor was wracked with another fit of coughing, enough to leave him leaning against the glass, smearing it with his sweaty palms.

"Sir, should I get your doctor?"

Noah was waved off. "Bunch of quacks, all of them. It's my time. But of course, the board's not sure if they want to keep Vayne on as CEO. With me gone and Larsa still a boy, there's no real reason to keep the Solidor family in charge is there?"

"And you think this Bahamut thing of Vayne's isn't going to sway them?"

Gramis chuckled. "The board is as old as me and twice as stubborn. They don't trust my son, Noah. I do know that he has some interest in your brother."

Some interest, hmm? Vayne had had Basch locked up for two years, and whatever Basch knew meant something to Vayne. Noah just asked the questions – what the answers meant, that chemistry gibberish, were for others to interpret. Noah Gabranth was the muscle – and he knew it. "I'll find him myself, sir."

"Such loyalty, and to a company that by all accounts destroyed your home." Gramis continued to lean heavily against the windows, his hands shaking in his finely tailored suit coat. "I would ask you to take a different tack, Gabranth."

"And what is that exactly?"

"My sons don't know this yet, but I have just changed my will. Call it intuition or stupidity, whatever you like. But I have named Larsa my heir and left Vayne…some stock options." A twelve year old? Inheriting the entire company out from under his adult brother, the CEO's nose? Gramis smiled. "Vayne will not be pleased when he discovers my treachery. There is something to be said about brothers, you know?"

Noah nodded. His twin was by far the more successful one, and he rarely had to work for it. He'd slaved away, working night shifts and multiple jobs while his brother tinkered with his chemistry set and ran off to war. He hid his balled fists within his jacket. "What are you asking me, Mr. Solidor?"

Another cough, another dribble of blood on the GS monogrammed handkerchief. "Watch my heir. Watch Larsa. Drace alone cannot protect him forever." Would Vayne stoop so low as to murder a little kid over a lost inheritance? Gramis moved back to his desk and took out a piece of stationery. "I've just doubled your pay. Whatever it takes, do not let Larsa become like his brother."

Noah watched the number of zeroes on the stationery increase, and he nodded. "You got it, sir."

--

Everyone was asleep in the passenger section of the plane. It was strange being in the air again so soon, only the Solidors' giant zeppelin was replaced with a much smaller tin death trap. Ashe really didn't care much for flying. It only reminded her of the flight to New Jersey…and Rasler. She twisted her engagement ring around her finger as she rose to her feet and moved up to the cockpit.

The clouds were fluffy and white, and although she knew it was horribly cold outside, the world looked far more peaceful from above. In the skies there were no Archadia Industries' thugs, no people struggling to feed themselves and their children. It was just them and the clouds that morning as they flew back to Chicago.

And of course, their pilot was there. "Something I can help you with?" he inquired, not even turning to look back at her as he concentrated on the dials and complicated switches on the panels before him. He wasn't that much older than her…where had he learned to fly at his age? There was a sophistication to him that didn't seem to match her preconceived notions of a small-time criminal. Balthier was a real mystery.

She expected to see his partner beside him. "Don't you need Fran to help you?"

He gestured for her to sit down, and she did, keeping her hands to herself and away from touching things that might potentially send them plummeting to the ground far below. "Oh, she doesn't really enjoy flying. I taught her all she needs to know in case I'm busy or dead or something."

"Well, let's hope you don't die. She's sleeping, and I'm the last person you want flying an airplane."

He flashed her that winning smile that probably made women weak in the knees. She would only admit to a slight weakening in her left ankle, but it could also be the injury from falling from her horse when she was ten flaring up. Balthier was determined to flirt and fly, she guessed. Let him try.

"There's a problem with our plan, isn't there?" he asked, instead of the inappropriate comment she'd expected and prepared to combat.

"What?" How on Earth did he know? He'd more than happily agreed to her bargain. All the safe deposit boxes he could crack was more than enough payment for his help in rescuing her. Liberating her, more like.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You've neglected to mention where this bank vault is…"

"Well…"

"And!" he interrupted, raising a finger pointedly. "You're missing something that's probably important."

She sighed. How did this man read her so well? She barely knew him, but he was different from any other man she'd ever met. Of course, most of her social interaction in the past few years had been with Vossler, who was an open book. He was honest and upfront, for a lawyer anyhow, and unlike this Balthier, he had scruples. But Balthier was right. She'd been rather cryptic, and worse still…she didn't have the key to the box.

"First of all, the bank is in…" She paused, closing her eyes against the reaction she knew was coming. "Kansas City."

"Oh, of course!" he replied in exasperation, thumping the panel in front of him with a groan.

"And…I don't exactly have the key for the safe deposit box. It was in that case. The one Ghis took."

"I know."

She blinked. "What do you mean you know? How could you know that?"

The next moment, the plane dipped slightly as he dug around in the pocket of his trousers. He righted it again in a few seconds, holding out a small silver key on a chain for her inspection. "I know because I stole it."

Ashe snatched it from him. 12FF…her father's key. She didn't know whether to kiss the man or slug him. "Well then. One problem solved."

"And I don't get anything unless I go to the vault with you? Honey, I could rob any bank I want."

"You could," she replied, ignoring the all-too-familiar tone he seemed to take with her. "But you won't."

He looked intrigued. "Oh really? And why's that?"

She stood up, ignoring the twisting in her stomach to wrap an arm around the back of his pilot's seat. Leaning down close enough to brush her lips against his ear, she whispered quietly. "Because you want to know what's in the bank box. You wouldn't fly all the way across the country and back if you're just a simple crook."

He tilted his head slightly until his lips were inches away from hers. It was dangerous for her to try playing the same game as him, and she had to move her face back before he stole more than her father's deposit box key. "You think you've got me pegged, Amy?"

The way he said her name…well, her alias, was so smooth, so unlike the polite and polished boys she'd taken classes with at Northwestern that her other ankle was getting ready to give way. She clutched the key in her palm hard enough that it was probably leaving an indent in it. "I'll be taking the first train to Kansas City tomorrow morning. Will you?"

She leaned back, trying to keep breathing as he smiled broadly. That was all the answer she was going to get from Balthier. Ashe watched him point out at the horizon. "Chicago, Illinois. Lovely from the air, isn't she?" She glanced at the shimmering waters of the lake, and the thousands of buildings grew larger as they descended. As soon as the wheels touched down on the tarmac, she hurried from the cockpit.

_Careful Ashie_, she heard Vossler's voice in her head say. _Don't mess with gangsters – they'll hang you out to dry._ She had to beat Vossler back to the house where she'd been all but sequestered for nearly two years. Ashe didn't have much, but she needed the money from Vossler and her savings and an overnight bag. She'd never been to Kansas City before, and whether the gangsters decided to accompany her or not, she needed to be ready for anything.

She declined a ride from Balthier and Fran. Their associate from Balthier's club was waiting in a fancy car, and she watched Vaan and Penelo hurry in out of the open air. Basch followed her from the plane. It was windy and cold, and she couldn't wait to get inside again. He tried offering her his coat, and she brushed him off. "What do you want from me? You're free to live now. Get out of here, leave the state, leave the country for all I care. They want you dead," she told him. She wandered to the terminal to hire a car, but still he trailed her.

"I heard you and Balthier speaking. About Kansas City, I mean," he informed her quietly, and she saw him frown as she blushed. How much else had he heard? "I said I would go to the vault with you."

Ashe frowned. "I don't need your help."

Basch put the coat around her shoulders. "Accept it then." He looked at her sternly, and she realized at that moment just how much she'd truly missed him all these years. His eyes were full of concern for her, and she knew that he'd had no part in the death of her father. It was utterly impossible.

She tugged the coat around her and entered the terminal with him beside her. An unescorted woman in a bank? Probably would be suspicious. She nodded, linking arms with him. "We've got some train tickets to buy."


	11. Chapter Ten

Penny had never met someone like Laszlo Nonokiewicz before. The long car ride back from the air field was strange, that's for sure. She was shuffled into the back seat between Vaan and Fran while the chubby little Polish man drove erratically in between bouts of shouting at Balthier.

He let loose a string of what Penny could only guess were expletives in Polish while Balthier sighed. "Nono, quit yelling, would ya?" he begged. "Between your Polish and Fran's German I can't understand half of what either of you ever say."

Fran leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Balthier understands more than he lets on," she said. "Nono and I just talk faster now to mess with him." Penny smiled at the two immigrants teasing the macho gangster. She held on to the seats tightly as Nono swerved wildly to avoid a streetcar.

"This is way to Little Italy!" Nono protested, honking the noisy horn while Balthier tried pointing him in another direction.

"Just roll the window down and smell, damn it!" Balthier snapped. "You can smell the sausage from miles away."

"That is hogs in meat packing! You don't live in Chicago as long as Nono!"

She looked down to hide her grin. The stock yards were on the south side, but Nono was probably right about the smell. How long had Balthier been in the city anyhow? He sounded more like a New Yorker than a native, although his accent was almost as sophisticated and polished as Larsa's had been. Why was a man like that a small time crook? From what little Vaan had been able to tell her, Balthier owned a speakeasy in Streeterville just north of the Chicago River. He must have been doing well to get property in such a nice neighborhood…and avoid getting shut down by the police.

"Cid Kramer calls me, yelling about his plane. 'Where is playboy? Where has that playboy taking my Trimotor?' and I tell him, I say 'Cid, I wish I could tell you what takes him so long, probably new girlfriend in DC…'"

"Oh Nono, he's going to kill me!" Balthier moaned. Vaan snorted with laughter while Fran kicked the back of Balthier's seat.

"We got his plane back in one piece, just pay him extra," she told her partner. "You can give him whatever you're planning to take from that bank…"

"What?" the Polish man screamed, leaving one hand on the wheel and using the other to smack Balthier in the head. Penny wondered who was really in charge – Balthier or Nono. She guessed the latter was the only person other than Fran that could keep the man in check. "What bank? You stealing from banks now? You try and give me another excuse to beat the tar out of you?"

Vaan cleared his throat. "Taylor Street…um, that was Taylor Street…"

"If you want Nono to just run business full-time, Mr. Flyboy, you say so because I want no part of bank robbing!"

"Nono?" Fran interrupted. "You missed the street, turn around!"

"Would you settle down? I'm not robbing any banks!" Balthier told his friend while Nono grumbled and struggled to find a place to turn the car. "It's all on the level, all legitimate. I'm accompanying a friend to Kansas City on business."

"You have no friends but me and Franziska!" Nono protested. Vaan elbowed Penny, mouthing "Franziska?" at her while she avoided Fran's gaze. "New friend is lady, and every time this happens I say 'Balthier, no dumbbell flapper is worth a man like you, well-educated and smart as a tack,' but no! You always say 'This one's a keeper, a real doll' and I say…"

"Sweet Jesus, would you shut up already?" Balthier cried. "Get these kids home before you have a heart attack!"

The car swerved again to avoid a dog catcher's truck, and between the yelling, the Polish cursing, and the terrible driving, Penny wanted nothing more than the safety of Miguel's soup kitchen and dozens of dishes to wash. Finally, she saw Miguel's place at the end of the street, but Vaan's gasp of surprise alerted her to the fact that something was very wrong.

"Pinkertons!" Vaan cried, and Nono slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over a few doors down from Miguel's. It was true. The entire soup kitchen was surrounded by men in suits with guns guarding the doors. She couldn't see Miguel from where they were in the car, and she wanted to get out to see if he was okay. She'd only been gone from home a few days, but it was clear that Archadia Industries was looking for them.

"What are we going to do?" she asked her friend, wondering if Kytes and the other kids were safe. There was no way they could go home. They'd be arrested or something far worse, that was for sure.

"Do you have family? Any friends elsewhere in the city?" Fran asked gently. "Those thugs aren't going to leave the neighborhood, that much is clear."

Penny felt tears in her eyes, and she wiped them away hastily. Vaan couldn't speak, his mouth hanging open in shock from seeing the only place they called home literally under siege. "We don't have anyone," she admitted quietly.

She watched Nono glare at Balthier while the gangster shook his head. "No. No kids in my club," Balthier whined.

"They have nothing! Just like you have nothing when we first meet!"

"This is different!"

"They can help Nono when we're in Kansas City with…our friend," Fran offered.

"No."

Everyone turned to look at Vaan. His gaze did not leave Miguel's shop and the armed men outside. "We're going to Kansas City with you," her friend said, his voice full of a seriousness that she'd never heard before. Penny didn't want to be left behind with the crazy little Polish man, and she nodded in agreement. She didn't exactly want to keep traveling the country with a bunch of criminals, but her choices were rather limited.

Balthier mumbled under his breath and sank down in his seat. "Cause me any more trouble and I'm letting you take the train all the way out to Los Angeles." He pulled his fedora down over his eyes, and she realized that the man had probably gotten the least amount of sleep of all of them with all the flying he'd had to do. No wonder he was so grumpy.

Fran put her arm around her shoulder, encouraging her to lay her head down. Penny closed her eyes and did so, letting the older woman soothe her with a gentle rub on her arm. She'd lost everything now – there was no way the Pinkertons would leave unless Archadia was brought down. Her friends, Miguel…she couldn't risk putting them in any danger by trying to go home. Right now, Vaan and this ragtag crew was all she had. Penny had to leave Taylor Street behind.

Nono pulled away from the curb with a grumble. "Come all this way and for what?" he complained, but Penny did her best to tune out the man's heavy accent as the car took them north across the river to Balthier's club.

--

Despite being in hiding for two years, Basch didn't think Ashe's living arrangements were so poor. Although Raminas had wanted his daughter out of Chicago, it was clear that Vossler had been unsuccessful in taking her that far away. With his law firm in the Loop, he'd settled down in Hyde Park not far from the University of Chicago, his alma mater. Ashe had the entire top floor of an old Victorian house to herself. Then again, the girl had grown up rather spoilt in Lincoln Park and the home here wasn't as large and well furnished.

Basch stood politely in the parlor while he listened to Ashe tearing quickly through drawers upstairs. Vossler would be greatly annoyed whenever he made it back to Chicago. He hadn't seen his friend since he left Ondore's estate in the taxi cab, and since he wasn't home yet, Basch could only assume he'd taken a train. The money Vossler had left Ashe in DC covered their train tickets, but they needed accommodations that night before the train left in the morning and then for when they stayed in Kansas City.

"He's always hiding money from me!" he heard her complain.

Basch couldn't help grinning. "Because you'd only use it to get yourself in trouble!" he called up the stairs to her.

She appeared at the top of the staircase, hands on her hips moments later. Despite her usual poise, he remembered that the girl was only nineteen years of age. He hadn't been much older than her when he'd gone off to war. She was her father's child through and through and had the same mischievous spark as Raminas.

"You sound just like Vossler," she complained. Ashe disappeared again and then reemerged lugging a suitcase. "Here, come help me with this."

He didn't budge. "What the hell are you bringing?" The girl had probably had a lot of time to plan her great escape, but she was still naïve.

She nudged the case with her toe. "Clothes, some for the train and a nice dress for the bank. And then some makeup. A few books…"

Basch sighed heavily and trudged up the steps. He hefted the suitcase and moved past her and into the bedroom. He grinned at the four-poster bed crammed into the tiny space and the drawers overflowing with clothes. There were pictures all over the walls torn from cinema and fashion magazines, and he couldn't help chuckling at the small shrine behind the headboard.

"Valentino? He's been dead for what…five years now?" he teased.

Ashe stood beside him and crossed her arms defiantly. "He was a handsome man. Father took me to see The Sheik six times."

"How old were you when that came out? Were you even out of diapers when that was playing?" He opened up the suitcase and groaned at the ridiculous amount of clothes and shoes and toiletries crammed into it. "Come on, clean this out."

She elbowed him aside and started throwing clothes back on the bed. "Leave me alone. And for the record, I was nine." He turned aside as she went through her clothes and waited patiently. He had really missed the girl and thought of her often when he was sequestered away in that awful prison. The thought of keeping her safe was rarely far from his mind. He'd never had time to have children of his own, had been too busy all those years with his career. Ashe was the closest he had to a daughter or kid sister.

The train would depart at eleven the following morning and arrive late that evening. So there was no rush, but the last thing he needed was Vossler showing up. "Can I ask what you intend to do with the contents of the bank box?"

She shrugged. "It's just more stock papers. I'll have to go over my uncle's head with them."

He straightened. She had no idea what was really in Raminas' box, did she? Raminas had never intended for those papers to see the light of day. After years of researching Greek fire, they'd finally come up with the correct solution. He'd been tortured two years for it, although it had been sitting in a Kansas bank box all that time just waiting to be discovered. If he was smart, he'd take them from her and destroy them himself lest Archadia get hold of them. Nobody would be hurt – although he wondered just how much Raminas had shared about his discoveries in the years before he worked at R.A. Banastre.

"Come on, we need to get out of here before Vossler gets home," he said quietly, walking away from her and out into the hallway.

--

Dearborn Station was surprisingly quiet that morning. With the coming winter and the exorbitant prices for train tickets, there were few people readying to depart for Kansas City that day. All the better, Balthier wagered. Nono had cussed him out one last time before dropping him, Fran and the kids off. The old man was more a father to him than his own had ever been, but he didn't need to think about Cid. Not now, not ever.

He'd nearly gone out of his head the previous evening having to put Vaan and his girl up for the night. Balthier owned the club and Nono owned the building, but his bachelor apartment wasn't exactly accommodating. Fran had taken the girl with her, leaving him stuck with Vaan's chatting. Even keeping him on the couch hadn't shut his trap. Long distance train rides had also seemed to elude the boy all these years, and Balthier prayed that the kid would plant himself in one of the observation cars and leave him in peace and quiet for the trip to Kansas City.

A quick glance at his ticket sent him along to the right track, and he hoisted his suitcase. Who knew how long they'd be there anyhow? Fran followed him quietly while the kids gabbed on and on about Kansas City, Missouri versus Kansas City, Kansas. At least they looked like tourists instead of criminals. They found Basch and Ashe waiting on the wooden benches near the boarding area.

"Good morning," he offered with a tip of his fedora in her direction. She gave him a smirk and a nod while Basch seemed to be hiding behind a newspaper. He sat down heavily beside her, and she clutched her handbag tightly as a reflex. That brought a smile to his face. "Don't trust me yet, sweetheart?"

She frowned. "No further than I could throw you." The kids ran off to plaster their faces against the glass to look at the other trains in the station while Basch kept reading and Fran kept an eye on all their bags.

"Will they request identification on the train?" Basch asked quietly, his eyes not seeming to focus on the paper in front of him.

Balthier smiled and reached inside his jacket pocket, producing a professional looking badge. He handed it to Basch. "Here you are, Henry."

The man accepted it with a wary look. "This doesn't look like me."

Balthier sighed. "They won't look that close. And besides, it's not like I could clip out your photo from the paper there," he retorted with a gesturing finger. An old picture of Basch, much younger…probably an Army photo, adorned the front page of the _Chicago Tribune_ with a headline of "Where is this man?"

Basch scowled. "Henry Mason, Bureau of Prohibition? Do I want to know how you got these?"

He smiled. "You probably don't." Balthier tossed a card into Ashe's lap. "And Mr. Mason, here's your little runaway. Keep an eye on her now."

Ashe stared at the card. "Mary Roberts, 2291 Maple Drive…" She rolled her eyes. "Kansas City, Missouri?"

"Shame on you, worrying your parents like that, Mary," he chastised her. "Leaving home to work in some gin joint in Chicago. You're lucky Mr. Mason here is bringing you back."

"Quite a little story. Maybe you should have been a writer instead of a criminal," Basch noted, sliding the badge into his coat pocket.

Ashe examined the identification card a bit longer. "These fakes come in handy often?"

Balthier leaned back in the seat and stretched a bit. "Oh, you know, Fran and I are mighty popular in these parts. Lots of admirers. So our names are known here and there, and if I slip out of town for a while, I've got a drawer full of these things."

His and Ashe's attention was pulled to Vaan and Penny, who were having a trivial argument about Pullman train cars. Balthier leaned over and whispered in her ear. "At least we thought to bring entertainment."

She sighed, and Balthier caught Basch smiling behind his paper. The older man set it down and walked over to the kids. It seemed that Basch didn't really mind Vaan and Penny that much. The girl, pigtails bouncing with her energy and enthusiasm over the pending trip, pointed out the window. "So what's the route for the Chief?"

The big train was waiting just on the other side of the platform, probably getting its last cleaning and inspection before letting everyone board. Basch looked at a map on the wall and gestured to it for Penny's benefit. "Well, we're going west. First we cross most of this state and go through Galesburg and Fort Madison here. A stop in the middle of Missouri at Marceline here, and then Kansas City. This train goes on to Los Angeles, but we're not." Basch eyed the girl warily. "It's a long trip. I hope you brought something to do."

"I'm not as dumb as I look," she complained, pulling a book from her coat. "Fran gave me something to read."

The man chuckled, and Balthier was getting annoyed by this rather adorable display. "I never thought you looked dumb," Basch informed her. Thankfully, there was an announcement over the speaker then: it was time to board the Chief.

He rose to his feet, lifting his suitcase and getting his ticket from his pocket. The others did the same, gathering up their belongings and heading for the queue. They were almost ready to get on board when a voice shouted Ashe's name. Who would be dumb enough to do something that stupid?

Balthier turned around to see that damned lawyer running over. He waved them down and joined the back of the queue. How the hell had he found out? Ashe hadn't been stupid enough to let him in on the little bank vault plan, had she? He could tell by the shock on her face that she hadn't. He hung back with Basch and Ashe while Fran helped the kids to get on the train.

"Vossler, what are you doing here?" Basch hissed as he tapped his ticket against his coat nervously.

The lawyer narrowed his eyes. "I get home early this morning to find a telegram from Secretary Ondore saying you've vanished…" He waved a train schedule in Ashe's face. "And then I find this on the floor of my living room."

Ashe handed her ticket to the attendant, ignoring Vossler completely. There was no stopping this girl, Balthier figured. But now they had one more in their group. Things never went smoothly for him. He overheard the lawyer grumbling to Basch about taking Ashe to Kansas City in the company of crooks, and he ignored the slight against his profession. If anyone was a crook, it was a lawyer, but he kept the thought to himself as he followed Ashe on board.

It would be a long day.

--

The "Where is this man?" headline annoyed him, and he tossed the paper in the trash. Vayne sighed and looked out at the lake and the light snow that was falling. At that very moment, the girl, Ronsenburg and who knows how many others were leaving Dearborn Station. Hopefully, they'd lead them right to something important. He had to admit that Raminas B'Nargin had been clever, scattering his papers in bank boxes and basements all over the place.

The lawyer had surprised him with the offer. The girl's life in exchange for whatever awaited them in Kansas City. The phone on his desk rang, and he moved over to answer. His secretary's shrill voice came through.

"Andrew Ghis on the line for you, sir."

The last person he wanted on this, but Vayne's options were limited. The Pinkertons' loyalty was rather split between himself and his father, and Ghis was the best he had in the Midwest since Gabranth was his father's dog. He waited to be connected. "Are you making preparations, Ghis?"

The man's pompous voice came through. Vayne could hear the train yards in the background, the noise of the engines and the chattering of people. "Santa Fe Chief just left a few minutes ago. We'll follow and wait for the call, Mr. Solidor."

"Excellent," he replied. "You've seen the forecast?"

"Snow's not going to make a difference, sir."

Vayne's patience with the man was growing thin. There was a blizzard coming in the next few days, and transport back from Kansas City would definitely be affected. "You're on thin ice, Ghis. Do not mess this up."

"We've got men in KC already getting the train put together. Our man at the station knows we're coming through."

He sighed. The zeppelin wouldn't be a good idea with the storm, but this train plan wasn't much better. Then again, he had a lot on his mind, considering the news he'd just received from New York…

"I expect you in Chicago in the next few days." He hung up before Ghis could get a smarmy word in edgewise.

--

**November 29, 1931**

**Grumblings in Manhattan – Is Solidor Kid on the Lam?**

**By R. Zecht, **_**Tribune**_** Staff Reporter**

As Vayne Solidor and Archadia Industries' (NYSE: ARCH) problems increase financially, could there be a manhunt underway to find the CEO's little brother back in New York City? Sources close to the Solidor family allege that twelve year old Larsa Solidor has gone missing after returning from an excursion to Washington D.C. Young Master Solidor is enrolled at the Collegiate School, an elite private academy in Manhattan and apparently failed to report back to class following the Thanksgiving holiday.

The office of Archadia Industries' President Gramis Solidor has denied these claims, saying his son is home and well. "Master Larsa is studying privately for his coming winter exams," Helen Drace, the nanny and private tutor for the young man told _Tribune_ contacts in Manhattan. "Anyone suggesting otherwise should get their head examined."

In other Solidor affairs, Albert Cid Margrace has reportedly planned an excursion to Chicago. Could he perhaps be planning to tour R.A. Banastre Inc.? Spokesmen for the oil giant have declined comment, but Margrace Oil's claims about a buyout are already causing gossip on the Board of Trade floor. The Texan is due to arrive in the Windy City sometime in the next few weeks.

--

The snow swirled by outside the train window, the rumbling locomotive keeping her from enjoying the book in her lap. Vossler sat across from her, anger plainly written across his face. They'd traveled in silence for the past two hours now, but it appeared that her friend could no longer contain himself.

"I wired your uncle before I came to the train station this morning," he told her as she saw Vaan and Penny scamper off toward the dining car, dragging Basch along with them. "He won't say anything since you're not exactly supposed to be alive."

Ashe kept the grip on her book firm so her hands wouldn't shake. She was furious that he'd followed them. They didn't need anyone else trying to get into the bank vault, if he let her go at all. She was surprised he hadn't made them get off the train already. "So? What about my case? Have you accomplished anything with that?"

He frowned at her. "I didn't have time to go in to the office today, you know that…"

Balthier appeared at the door of their compartment then, his hat hanging low over his eyes once more. "They're checking tickets. We're drawing attention sitting together. Fran and I are going up to the front car." He didn't wait for an answer and departed.

She turned back to Vossler. "Well, what can we do for R.A. Banastre? Anything?"

His eyes were troubled, but she didn't exactly know why. "Look, whatever's in your father's bank box…that's the first step. It all begins with that." He rose from the seat, leaving her alone until Vaan and Penny joined her an hour or so later.

"So," Vaan said, munching on an apple. "Why would your dad keep stuff in Kansas City?"

She shrugged. "He was overly cautious with his personal effects. He had a few safes at home, mostly with all his Egypt stuff. And then I guess he spread his things out, made sure he didn't keep everything in one place."

"Egypt stuff?" Penny asked. "What do you mean?"

Ashe smiled at the thought. She missed her father terribly, and his greatest hobby always amused her. Why Raminas B'Nargin went into the chemical business and not archaeology she'd never understand. "He was obsessed. With mummies and tombs and things. He was really into it. Do you remember when they found King Tut's tomb?"

Vaan nodded. "Sure."

"My father helped finance Howard Carter's trip. Without my father's money, he might have never been able to find the tomb. He'd always wanted to go to Egypt himself. He said when he retired he would go…" Her voice trailed off, the memories of her father's horrible death far too painful for her to think about.

"I'm sorry, Ashe," Penny said quietly.

She shook her head. "It's alright. If we get his papers, he won't have died for nothing."

Vaan looked equally upset and nodded. She'd heard that his and Penny's home was now under watch by the Pinkertons. No wonder he was out of sorts. "Good. The sooner Archadia goes down, the better."

Ashe hoped things would go smoothly with the bank. Of course, going with a criminal, a wanted man, and her overprotective caretaker were definitely going to complicate things. She glanced back out the window. The sun shone down on the corn fields as they continued west to Kansas City.


	12. Chapter Eleven

"I don't think we need three look-outs in the lobby," Basch protested, and Fran had to admit that the normally mild mannered fellow was rather attractive when worked up with anger. Then again, they were all getting angry since this bank planning session had been going on for the better part of an hour, still with few results. She and Balthier had cased the place that morning, and security was rather lax. It was hard to understand why planning this was turning out to be so difficult.

Vaan punched the pillow and flopped back on the hotel bed. "Aw, come on! We came all the way here! You can't just leave us here while you go have all the fun!"

Ashe narrowed her eyes at the young man. "I don't think rummaging through my late father's papers is really what I'd consider fun." Penny gave her friend a cease and desist poke in the ribs, and Vaan sighed noisily in defeat.

Balthier laid sideways on the other bed in the room with her, and he settled his head in her lap with his hat over his face while Fran sat in her pajamas with her back against the headboard. "This is a nightmare," he mumbled while she patted his head in sympathy.

Fran caught the young heiress watching Balthier get comfortable, a flash of something in her eyes that wasn't exactly jealousy. It seemed that Ashe was more annoyed that Balthier was relaxing while the others were working together. But if it was jealousy, Fran thought, it was unfounded. Balthier was everything to her but a lover.

The lawyer was also watching the pair of them with a curious eye, but Fran had noticed that Vossler had been nervous since they'd gotten off the train the night before and moved to this hotel a few blocks away from the bank. She could tell by the way he shoved his shaky hands in his pockets that he needed a stiff drink. Of course, here she was part owner of a speakeasy, and she had nothing to give the man.

"You children will stay here in the hotel with Fran…if that's fine by you?" Vossler asked, and she nodded her assent. Fran usually enjoyed being part of capers, but with the craziness the past few weeks had brought to her life, she didn't mind sitting this one out. Penny didn't look too upset to be laying low, but Vaan was obviously disappointed. The boy wanted to bring down Archadia, that was for sure. The fire in the boy's eyes reminded her of Kurt…of experiences that seemed almost a lifetime ago.

"You doing alright?" Balthier whispered, tilting his hat so that he was only addressing her while the group continued their planning a few feet away.

She nodded, shaking thoughts of her past away. "We passed right through St. Louis on the way here. It is just…bringing up things I have kept inside."

Balthier understood. "When we get out of here, we could make an appearance. Can bring your sisters some of the money we take from this bank."

Fran shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Balthier, are you part of this discussion or not?" Ashe demanded impatiently, and Fran watched Balthier's look of concern immediately switch to a grin. He sat up, adjusting his suspenders and stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

"You promised me, sweetheart," he told the young woman. "I get to be right with you when you crack that box. There's no way I'm sitting out."

Basch sighed. "Yes, we're all aware of how you're jeopardizing this with your petty greed."

"I did promise him," Ashe admitted quietly. "So that's me and Balthier so far for the vault and…"

"Then I'm coming too," Vossler interrupted quickly. The lawyer stared daggers at her partner, and Fran desperately wanted to smile at the man's insinuation. "To ensure that you don't get into too much trouble."

"And because you don't trust me alone with your substitute sister, hmm?" Balthier shot back.

"That's not at all…" Vossler sputtered.

"Enough!" Ashe cried, and the men shut up quickly. Fran had to hand it to her – the girl could get people to listen. She'd be a great executive if they ever got R.A. Banastre out of Archadia's clutches. "Balthier is coming along as payment for all his help. Vossler, you're a lawyer, so it makes sense for you to come. And Basch, you come. You can make sure Balthier's eyes don't get larger than his pockets." She silenced Balthier's immediate complaint with a look that truly impressed Fran.

Basch cleared his throat. "Then it's settled. The bank opens at 9 A.M. We'll meet down in the lobby at 8:45."

Vaan grumbled, sliding off the bed and through the door to the males' adjoining room. Basch and Vossler followed him while Fran watched Ashe sit down heavily in the desk chair with a sigh. These papers belonged to her father, who had died such a horribly violent death. The memories must have been haunting the poor girl. Penny headed down the hall to the washroom, and Fran turned out the light on the nightstand, settling under the covers.

She listened to Balthier slide off the bed beside her, his footsteps muted on the carpeted hotel room floor. He leaned on the desk near Ashe. "Need me to hold the key for you?" he offered, and Fran pulled the pillow over her head. He wouldn't quit with this girl, would he?

Ashe ignored his question, keeping her voice low since Fran was trying to sleep. "Do you think they'll be curious about three men and a woman opening one bank box? Vossler's my lawyer, so that makes sense, but you and Basch…"

"You could always say we're planning to get married, and you need your birth certificate. You've already got that big rock on your finger. Vossler's still the lawyer and Basch could be your father…"

Fran groaned into the mattress at her partner's antics. "Basch isn't old enough to be my father," the girl hissed in reply.

"You didn't see him with the beard," Balthier noted. "But that can be the plan, alright? They probably won't even ask you."

"Fine. But for the record? I wouldn't marry someone like you."

"What?" Balthier teased her. "What's wrong with me? I'm the perfect man – devilishly handsome, clever, have my own business… "

Penny came back from the washroom, and the conversation between her partner and the B'Nargin girl came to an abrupt halt. The last thing Fran needed was for them to get more and more tangled up in this R.A. Banastre mess, but Balthier had a penchant for helping ladies in distress. She'd have to encourage him to back off once this bank job was over and done with. He needed to find a woman to pursue who would cause them less trouble.

Balthier wished the girls a good night and departed for the other room. Fran heard Penny and Ashe climb into the other bed in the room. "What did Balthier want?" Penny asked curiously.

Fran listened to Ashe chuckle and rustle the blankets. "To marry me."

"That was fast," Penny remarked, and Fran smiled, letting sleep come claim her for the night.

--

Ashe was grateful for her long dress coat. She was able to keep her nervous hands in the pockets while the bank employee verified the key. Was her father's death on record here? He'd had so many bank accounts in so many places – hopefully they wouldn't ask too many questions. They waited in the man's office, Basch in the seat beside her. Vossler was pacing nervously while Balthier inspected the man's desk drawers.

"He'll be back any second," Vossler chastised Balthier. "Get out of the man's desk!"

Balthier chuckled. "Would you calm down?" He shut the drawer and picked up a picture frame from the desk, showing the others the photograph. "Hard to believe a shy little man like that has such a gorgeous wife!"

She looked down in her lap and focused on her breathing. Her heart had been racing since they'd entered the bank half an hour ago and asked to be let down to the vault to open one of the boxes. They'd been kept waiting for a long time now, and she wondered if they were calling the police. Balthier's tendency to get under everyone's skin wasn't helping. A few minutes later, the employee came back in the room, and Basch gave her the slightest nod. They were getting in.

"Right this way, miss. Gentlemen, will you be coming along?"

Balthier shot her that self-satisfied look she'd already gotten to know so well. She twisted her engagement ring around her finger, remembering his suggestion from the night before. "Yes, my cousins and I…" Balthier scowled at her. "My cousins and I are all interested in my father's box."

The employee nodded and led them back through the bank lobby. Balthier was right at the man's heels with Basch behind him while Vossler kept her back with a protective hand at her elbow. "I don't like this," he whispered to her. "Letting one of his type loose in a bank vault."

She smiled at Balthier's back as he followed the bank man down the steps to the vault. The gangster was already concocting some wild story about how Raminas B'Nargin was his favorite uncle, and the bank fellow was eating it all up.

"He'll behave. And much as I don't want to admit it, he's been very helpful." Vossler grunted a non-committal response, and she gave her ever-loyal guardian a pinch in the ribs. "He's the type of man who only sees dollar signs. He'll be loyal so long as money's a guarantee. He might even continue to help us if we promise him more."

Vossler frowned. "I don't share your blind trust in him."

Blind trust? She wouldn't describe her considerations of Balthier to be anything approaching trust, at least not yet. Vossler was being Vossler, as usual. Suspicious and paranoid, but Fran had assured her that morning that Balthier had no desire to go to prison and would be on his best behavior that day. "Come on," she told her friend. "We're falling behind."

They picked up their pace, reaching the vault. There were a few wooden tables and chairs for customers inside the deposit box area. The bank employee produced a matching key for her father's box. "Miss, if you'd do me the honor?"

She pulled her father's key from her pocket and stepped forward, inserting it into the outside of the metal box. The employee slid in his own key, and they turned together until they heard a click. She stepped back while the man pulled the long metal box from the wall and set it down on the table. "There you are. I'll be upstairs if you need anything. Otherwise, it should lock right back up. Have a lovely day."

"You too, thank you," Ashe told the friendly man as he walked out of the vault and left them alone.

She ran her hand along the top of the cold metal, knowing that R.A. Banastre's salvation might be laying inside. But Balthier had little patience for her. He'd already yanked the employee's key from the box and was poised by the wall again. "Ashe, your hairpin?" he asked her.

Vossler glared at him. "Half a minute in the vault, and you're already trying to break a box?"

She reached back and pulled out the pin, sending a few strands of hair out of place. Balthier accepted it with a humble bow and got immediately to work. Basch was on her other side then. "Take your time," he told her gently.

"Time is a luxury we do not have," Vossler interrupted. She looked up from the box to see her friend crossing his arms impatiently. The train out of town didn't leave until late that afternoon. What was his hurry? Meanwhile, Balthier was paying them little attention, and she heard him cursing under his breath at the wall of bank boxes. She wondered if Balthier would keep them down there all day until he claimed some reward.

Ashe opened the box, expecting nothing but non-descript bank statements and stock certificates, but the first item she saw made her gasp. It was enough to pull Balthier from the wall to stand behind her while the other two men leaned closer on either side. She picked up the photograph from the top of the box with a shaky hand, feeling her eyes well up with tears. Ashe felt Basch's hand on her shoulder in sympathy as she gazed into a face she would never see again.

"Rasler," she whispered quietly. Her father had kept a copy of their engagement photo, and she let her fingers trace her late fiancé's strong jaw.

"_Settle down, would ya?" he teased her, wrapping his arm around her waist. "This one's going to be in all the papers, and I don't need you making me look bad."_

_She giggled and elbowed him. "Rasler, since when do you care about the papers? Nabudis Chemicals is only in them when the stocks are down."_

_The photographer sighed behind the camera while her lifelong friend and now fiancé tickled her. "That was a low blow! They're all going to think you're marrying me to take pity on our financial setbacks!"_

"_Never! I'm marrying you because you need someone to take care of your reckless behind!"_

_He gasped. "I do not! You're one to talk, Miss Daredevil! Don't think I didn't hear about that motorcycle race after the Coles' party last week!"_

_The photographer cleared his throat. "Mr. Heios, Miss B'Nargin, if you please…"_

_They calmed down, smiling politely for the camera. She'd never been happier in her entire life. "Cheese!"_

She barely noticed Basch sliding the picture from her fingers and setting it aside on the table. "Ashe, honey, let's see what else your father left, alright?"

Her mind was miles away, thinking of how sweet and kind Rasler had been…and the awful day she'd gotten the telephone call. He and his father had been driven off the road, she knew it. The press had tried to put alcohol into it, that the Heios family deserved what they got. Archadia had surely been behind it. She wiped her eyes hastily and started pulling other papers out of the box. Ashe sniffed a few times and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry."

Balthier seemed to give up his thieving, tossing the hairpin back on the table in frustration. She watched him pick up the photograph and study it with a shrewd eye. Ashe ignored him and frowned at the contents of the box. Where she expected to see stock papers, she instead saw letters and envelopes, her father's correspondence with dozens of his friends and colleagues.

She heard Basch's sharp intake of breath as she dug a wrinkled piece of paper from the bottom of the box. There were a few things listed that she recognized as chemical components, but the writing was haphazard and the ink fading. It was impossible to tell what everything actually said. There were a few scrawled names and addresses listed beneath the chemicals.

"Your father never meant for anyone to see that," he told her quietly.

Vossler slammed a fist on the table. "More secrets, Basch? Look, obviously there's no stocks here…the whole thing's a bust. Raminas' letters won't do a damn thing in court, so let's get back to Chicago and find another way."

But she couldn't take her eyes away from the page. What could this mean? What had her father and Basch known but kept hidden from everyone else for so long? "Carter 22," she read aloud where it was written at the top of the page.

"The hell does that mean?" Balthier asked, suddenly curious.

"My father funded Howard Carter's expedition in 1922, the King Tut affair," she told him, squinting at the other names on the list.

Basch decided to fill in a few details. "And in appreciation for your father's assistance, Carter brought your father a gift back from one of the tombs, an urn I think. It was determined to not be from Tut's era, but the papyrus inside had a recipe on it in Demotic Egyptian." He pointed to the crumbling paper in her hand. "And those are the modern chemical equivalents. He spent years getting it translated and getting the formula right."

"And this is what Archadia wants?" she asked. "A list of chemicals?" Perhaps this was far more valuable than the stock papers ever would have been. Vossler was almost glued to her side, his eyes scanning the page in her hand.

Basch nodded. "It's some really nasty stuff. In the wrong hands and with the right chemist, you could drop this on whole towns and burn them to the ground in minutes. Raminas made us keep it secret once we worked out the formula…"

"But?" Balthier interrupted.

"But I suspect that someone else found out about it and told Archadia. Why else would they target R.A. Banastre and your father…why would they keep chasing you now? They interrogated me about it daily when I was imprisoned, and they won't rest until they have it."

Ashe wanted to burn the damned paper. Why would her father go through all the trouble of getting the thing translated instead of destroying it outright? "Who translated it? Who else knew about it?" She scanned the names on the paper. Those had to be the only people who'd known about Raminas' secret formula. "Ronsenburg…"

"I was the only one at R.A. Banastre who knew, yes," Basch informed her.

"Anastasis, University of Chicago?"

Basch shrugged. "Raminas never went into much detail about the translations or the initial testing. Must have been a scholar he consulted."

One more name on the list, but not even a last name? "Cid B? Columbia?"

Balthier dropped the engagement photo on the desk and snatched the paper from her hand. His usual calm expression was riddled with confusion as he glanced it over. "Look, we don't know what this implies, but we can't let Archadia get a hold of this paper. I say we destroy it."

Why was everyone acting so strange? First Vossler, now Balthier? What did Balthier care about some translated chemical formula? Ashe took the paper back from Balthier, scanning it again. "This might be the only leverage we have against them." She slid the paper and then her engagement photo inside her coat pocket. "For now, I think we need to find these other two people…this Anastasis and then Cid B. They might be in danger from Archadia."

Vossler moved to the vault exit. "I'll go call Fran at the hotel and tell them we're on our way back soon." He hurried out, and Ashe let him go.

She glanced over the papers again, and Basch nodded as she shut them back in the box. He lifted it from the table and set it back in the wall, locking it up. "We cannot let Archadia get their hands on that, but if Vossler can make it admissible in court…"

Ashe agreed. "Balthier?" she asked, taking the discarded hairpin from the table and setting it back in her hair. "Were you unsuccessful?"

The man seemed distracted, and he glanced at her for several moments before responding to her question. "What? Oh, it's nothing. Blasted locks on these boxes, to hell with them."

"I'm sure you don't want to leave empty handed," Basch muttered.

The gangster shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. We should get back to the hotel." His behavior was very strange, Ashe thought, but perhaps he'd just been joking about stealing from the vault all along? But what reason did he have for following along if he wasn't in it for a profit?

She rose from her seat and put the bank box key on her necklace, hiding it back inside her blouse. Basch and Balthier followed her from the vault. Columbia probably meant the university in New York, but if this Anastasis was in Chicago, then it would be easier to visit him first. Archadia had to know about this weapon somehow – had Anastasis told them? They had a long ride back to Chicago, and she wouldn't be able to calm herself until she got home.

--

Fran and Penny hung back. "I don't know, Vaan," Penny said. "They wanted us to stay at the hotel."

He marched forward. Being cooped up in the room wasn't going to help bring down Archadia Industries. Besides, if Balthier was looting that bank vault, he probably needed someone to watch the door while he snuck off with all that stuff. At least that's what kept Vaan's feet moving. They were only a block away from the bank now, and the light turned red, keeping them from advancing.

Vaan paced anxiously, shivering with the cold morning. They'd been gone for over an hour – how long did it take to go through a bank box? Fran patted his shoulder. "Come now, relax. I don't think Balthier is foolish enough to stall them. They'll be out soon enough."

He shrugged in reply, tapping his foot in anticipation of the go ahead from the policeman directing automobile and pedestrian traffic. The bank loomed just ahead, all marble pillars and granite steps. For all that the country was in a bad way financially, bank buildings always gave off the false impression of wealth. Vaan had never had a bank account before and hadn't really been inside one.

"Look!" Penny announced, gesturing across the street. "Vossler's coming out!"

Sure enough, the lawyer was hurrying out, taking the bank steps two at a time. Maybe they'd run into trouble inside? He wanted to call out to the man, but they didn't need to draw any unnecessary attention. But where Vaan expected Vossler to head over to the crosswalk, he was surprised to see the man head for a telephone booth on the opposite corner.

"Who's he calling?" Vaan wondered aloud.

Fran sounded irritated, rubbing her gloved hands together. "He's probably calling us back at the hotel. Now he's going to think something happened."

"But he's talking to someone," Penny pointed out. "If he was calling our room, he'd have hung up by now because nobody would have answered, right?"

"Nosy children!" Fran chided them. "He is an important man. Perhaps he is calling a judge to hear Ashe's case."

The light turned green, and Vaan ignored Fran's advice. This wasn't right. Why was the lawyer outside when the rest were still in the vault? Vaan could tell that Vossler didn't trust Balthier – he wouldn't dare report the gangster to the police, would he? He raced across the street, the policeman shouting for him to slow down.

Vossler hung up the phone as soon as he approached the booth. The lawyer stepped out and adjusted his tie nervously. "I thought I told all of you to stay back at the hotel!"

Fran and Penny caught up. "I am sorry. He would not sit still," Fran apologized, and Vossler looked rather frazzled.

"No matter, Ashe is just putting things back in the bank. We didn't find anything useful."

"Not anything?" Penny asked sadly. "What is Ashe going to do?"

Vossler led them up the bank steps. "We'll find a way," he said quietly, ushering them all into the lobby. "Look, just sit down over here until they come up from the vault."

Vaan felt horribly underdressed. Balthier and Basch had gone out in suits that morning, and there he was in an old pair of patched trousers and a stained shirt. Penny dragged him over to a fancy green leather couch, and they sat down. Fran got a few stares from the other customers inside, and she pulled her hat lower over her face.

He saw their other three companions emerge from a door off the lobby then. Basch escorted Ashe to the lobby, Balthier lagging behind with a rather subdued look on his face. Vaan imagined that he'd been unsuccessful in cracking any of the bank boxes. Ashe looked annoyed that they were there, but she calmed down by the time she and Basch reached them.

"All set?" Vossler inquired nervously.

Ashe nodded while Vossler checked his pocket watch. There was a perfectly fine working clock on the bank wall just next to them. Why was Vossler acting so strange?

Basch waved a key at them. "I'll go return this to the bank manager. I can walk back to the hotel on my own…"

"No!" Vossler interrupted, causing both Balthier and Fran to perk up considerably.

Ashe tugged on the lawyer's coat. "Don't make a scene, what is going on?" Basch looked at Vossler curiously and moved off to return the key.

"I…just think we should all stick together since we're all out now," Vossler said.

"But you wanted us all separate to begin with," Fran pointed out. "Let me take the children back and then you can leave a few minutes later to avoid suspicion."

Vossler checked the pocket watch again, and Vaan knew that Vossler must have been on the phone with the police. "You called someone!" Vaan accused.

Ashe looked up at Vossler with concern. "You said you were going to call Fran, but they're already here…just what is going on?" They all kept their voices low, but Penny elbowed him to indicate that the other bank customers' attention was being drawn to them.

Basch returned a minute later, and Vossler caught Ashe by the wrist tightly. "Come on, let's get out of here," the lawyer whispered through gritted teeth.

"That hurts," Ashe complained as he dragged her through the ornate double doors at the entrance. Vaan rose from the couch, tugging Penny after him. Something was definitely wrong.

Balthier tapped Vossler's shoulder as they went through the door. "You don't need to grab her like that. She's perfectly capable of walking without your help."

Vossler released Ashe but turned on the gangster as soon as they were out in the cold air again. Penny gasped as Vossler pulled a concealed pistol from inside his jacket, pointing it at Balthier. He kept it low so others going in or out of the bank wouldn't see it. Balthier didn't move, and Vaan watched Ashe's face fall.

The girl was furious. "Vossler, you didn't call the police on Balthier, did you? Please say you didn't. He didn't take anything!"

Vaan heard screeching tires and then saw a fleet of shiny sedans come around the corner, coming to a quick stop in front of the bank. Basch stood in front of Penny and Fran protectively. "I think he did more than call the police," the chemist muttered angrily.

Andrew Ghis and his fancy hair got out of the lead car, followed by at least a dozen Pinkertons from the other cars. "Vossler, no…" Ashe mumbled.

The lawyer dropped his gun on the marble step as the Pinkertons approached. Several nervous bank customers hurried inside and away from Ghis and his goons while Vaan and the others raised their hands in surrender.

"Such an honor to once again be in your presence, Miss B'Nargin," Ghis greeted them while the Pinkertons surrounded them, guns drawn. "You left us so suddenly last time that I was beginning to think we'd offended you."

Ashe held her coat around her tightly in the chilly December air. "Yeah, I bet you're real sorry. Now what do you want?"

"We'll discuss that on the way back," Ghis replied, signaling for his thugs to pull all seven of them down the bank steps and into the cars.

"The way back where?" Ashe demanded angrily as she and Vossler were shoved into the first car. "The way back where?! Basch, do something!"

Vaan and Penny were shoved into the next car with Basch, and he guessed that Balthier and Fran were being ferried along in the last car. None of the Pinkertons answered their questions as they drove through the streets of Kansas City. They made it back to the train station just as snow began falling rather heavily, nearly blinding him as they were dragged onto an older looking passenger train. It wasn't one of the usual trains, and he scowled at the all too familiar Archadia Industries logo that was freshly painted on the engine and train cars.

Penny held onto him tightly as the train's whistle blew, announcing their departure. "What are we going to do now?"

The seven of them were stuck on this train, and he glanced out the window to see the snow flying by furiously. He grasped his friend's hand. He'd gotten her involved in this mess, and he had no idea how to get them out. "I don't know, Penny."


	13. Chapter Twelve

They were aboard the train for two hours before they were all shuffled along to the first car, the noise of the engine hurting her ears something awful. The Pinkertons had kept them all separate, and she was grateful they hadn't just thrown her out. Penny had not enjoyed the company of Andrew Ghis the last time they'd encountered him. The Archadia Industries train wasn't the most hospitable of places, not like the fine rooms she'd traveled in with Larsa aboard his family's zeppelin. There was the feeling of haste in everything. The train cars were probably old Pullmans that the company had snatched up nice and cheap, but any amenities were ripped out.

Ghis himself lounged in this front car, the only one Penny had seen while being dragged along that had curtains for the windows and actual seats. It was freezing outside already with the snow. She could hear the wind howling and could see white blending with the waning gray sky. The sun would be setting very soon, and then they'd be plunged into black for the remainder of their journey. Penny could only guess that the Pinkertons were dragging them back to Chicago, and she didn't know how they would get out of this mess.

She stood back with Vaan, seemingly forgotten since it appeared that Ghis' business lay solely with Ashe. Penny watched Vossler lean against the wall of the car, and since the Pinkertons had not seen it necessary to handcuff him like the rest, it was obvious that he'd struck up some deal with them. But why? He was supposed to be Ashe's friend, probably the only one she had since she and Basch were still on shaky terms.

Ghis sipped from a hardball glass, some brown liquor in it that had probably come from a speakeasy joint like Balthier's. "Whatever was in that bank, girl. You'd do well to hand it over now."

Ashe held her chin high, although Penny noticed that her hand was clasped close against her thigh near one of the pockets of her coat. Balthier and Fran exchanged a look that Penny couldn't decipher, some conversation going on between the two of them that she wouldn't understand. Of course, she wished that her bond with Vaan was as strong. Instead, the boy wouldn't stop glaring at the lawyer. Basch was also staring angrily at the man he'd thought a friend. How easily loyalties could change when Archadia Industries was involved.

"We just want the paper in your pocket, dear. Surely your friend Azelas has told you what's going on here?"

Ashe looked shocked. Had she taken something from the vault? Vossler said they'd found nothing, but his word wasn't worth much now. Azelas moved from the wall of the compartment and looked down at her. "Ashie, he means the formula on that paper..."

"Vossler!" Basch interjected, giving the man a hard shove. "Are you mad?" Vossler did nothing to retaliate, and Penny wondered why he didn't strike back.

"I can't do anything to stop these people, Basch," Vossler tried to explain. "We have to be realistic. R.A. Banastre is lost."

Ashe looked heartbroken, Basch furious, while Ghis continued to sip his drink. "Mr. Azelas has struck a wise bargain on your behalf, Miss B'Nargin. You need only hand over the paper you carry and you are free to leave the country. Create a new life away from Chicago and this R.A. Banastre nonsense. You have to admit it's a pretty good deal."

"Is that right?" Balthier interrupted. "You'd just let her leave? Pinkertons don't work like that."

Ghis sighed, setting his drink down on the floor of the train car. Penny was startled as the man rose from the seat and pulled his pistol from a side holster, aiming it right between Balthier's eyes. "Enough of your running commentary." He glanced at Ashe. "Look, girl, make up your mind or you can watch him die."

Balthier grinned. "Always thought I'd go out with a bang."

The standoff was tense, and from the way Balthier was regarding Ghis so calmly, Penny wondered if the two had met before this whole affair. She watched tears form in Ashe's eyes, but she seemed to be able to control them and keep them from falling. The young woman shakily took a thin paper from her pocket and held it out to Ghis. Balthier almost looked disappointed in Ashe's decision. Basch put his arm around the girl's shoulder as she handed over something that was probably more important than anything.

Ghis snatched the paper, pulling the gun away from Balthier's face and back in his holster. His eyes skimmed the page, whatever it was, and smiled. "After all these years, here it was in a bank vault. That old crackpot Cid will piss himself."

"What was that?" Balthier asked in surprise, and Penny was curious at the gangster's interruption. So much of this was over her head.

The Pinkerton waved them away. "Take them back to the rear car. I think it's the coldest there away from the engine." Penny was urged along with Vaan, and she could hear the others being shoved behind them. "Mr. Azelas, if you'd like to protect your little miss, you'd do well to keep an eye on them for the remainder of the trip."

Penny heard Ashe curse under her breath as they emerged into the cold and were shoved through the next train cars. How could Vossler do this?

--

The way the Pinkertons had them lined up against the wall, Balthier was pretty sure that they'd all be shot before they reached Chicago. The train car swayed with the wind, and the blizzard outside would only get worse before it got better. It was dark now, and somewhere out there, people were probably eating supper, listening to the radio, doing domestic things. He could almost laugh.

They'd sat him down opposite Fran, thus limiting his ability to formulate any sort of escape plan with her. Even in three years together, their lip reading had not advanced to any satisfactory level. With Fran not a native speaker and Balthier inclined to use slang, they'd rehearsed hand signals and eyebrow wiggles, but even if they tried, they had Vossler and some goons keeping an eye on them. He didn't need to get a bullet in the skull for a half-baked plan.

He could only hope that Mr. War Hero Ronsenburg would heed any signal Fran tried to give him. Basch was seated just next to Fran, within arm's reach really. The Pinkertons couldn't object to a lady falling asleep on a gentleman's shoulder. He grinned as Fran decided to do just that, and the blush that rose in the man's cheeks was almost adorable. On Fran's other side, Vaan looked almost disappointed.

On any other day, Balthier would have felt divinely privileged to be seated between Ashe and Penny, two attractive girls – but of course, Penny was too frightened to strike up a chat and Ashe too forlorn. He decided to try the heiress anyhow, since he was rather curious.

"So why save my neck?" he whispered to her.

"Hmm?" She was distracted, watching Vossler nervously pass his pistol from hand to hand.

"We've only just met, and you handed over that paper without a second thought. Surely gangsters are a dime a dozen."

She looked down in her lap. "I don't need to lose anyone else. You might have noticed, Balthier, but I don't have a lot of friends."

He smiled at that. "You need to get that paper back." Of course, he didn't need to show her his own personal interest in one of the names on that paper. What the hell was the old man's connection here anyhow?

Ashe gave him a strange look. "Get it back? We're on a train, we're unarmed. I don't see that happening."

"Ashie, don't talk to him," Vossler interrupted, reserving an extra special glare for Balthier.

"Why not?" she challenged him. "I talked to you for years and look where it got me."

One of the goons cleared his throat. "Look Azelas, if there's going to be a problem here, we can cuff you just the same as her."

They really didn't need to get shot, and Balthier held up his cuffed hands in surrender. "I'll let the lady be." Vossler still eyed him suspiciously, but this little distraction had been all Fran needed.

The two Pinkertons had their backs to them, allowing Fran and Basch to rise in the shaky train car and land a foot to the side of either goon's knee. Beside them, Vaan turned green at the sound of the joints snapping. The Pinkertons were done for, writhing on the floor of the car in agony until Fran kicked each in the head, knocking them out.

Balthier got to his feet while Fran and Basch each helped themselves to the Pinkertons' pistols. "Well done, Fran. Penny, be a dear and snag the keys for the handcuffs."

"Stop!" Vossler protested, waving his pistol around. "They'll kill you!"

Basch trained his own gun on Vossler. "Penny, get the keys." The girl, who looked frightened out of her mind, looked between the two men for a few seconds, then reached into the nearest Pinkerton's pocket and pulled out the keys. Vossler's grip on the gun was still shaky, and Balthier shoved Penny behind him before the lawyer got trigger happy.

Ashe sidled over to him and away from Vossler while he undid his own handcuffs. "If you don't mind?" she asked, holding out her wrists.

He slid his hand over her wrists as he undid them, knowing that Vossler was watching. "Don't suppose you're the type for tying up? What a shame." She blushed at his comment, and he turned around to Penny before Ashe could say anything. "It's going to be alright," he whispered to Penny, who needed reassurance rather than flirting. When he finished, he tossed the keys to Vaan.

Vossler was still quaking with fury. "I've only wanted to protect her, Basch, you know that. And I can't protect her if you do this."

Basch ignored Vossler's pleas and handed Balthier the gun. "I suppose this is a job for a gangster."

Ashe seemed to realize what was happening and grabbed hold of him. "No, you can't!" Her grip on his wrist was rather firm, but there was no way Cid could get that paper. They had to ambush Ghis. With these two goons and Vossler out of commission, that only left three others with Ol' Pomade at the front. And the hapless engineer of course.

Balthier shook Ashe off of him, and he and Fran pointed the guns at Vossler. "Give yours to Basch," Fran demanded, and the lawyer reluctantly handed it over. The train shook violently then, nearly knocking them all to the floor.

"Was that the wind?" Vaan asked incredulously.

"Storm's pretty nasty," Fran noted. "They are pushing the train too fast."

Balthier sighed. They had to get out of here before it derailed. "I trust you can keep things in order?" he asked the chemist, and Basch nodded. "Alright, Vaan. Come make yourself useful."

The boy hurried over. Balthier slid open the compartment door and was nearly knocked back on his ass with the force of the wind and snow. Fran hurried across and slid open the next door. He had to shout over the sound of the wind and the squealing train for Vaan to hear him. Balthier pointed down between the cars.

"I need you to uncouple it!"

Vaan's eyes widened. "What? We're not leaving you!"

He rolled his eyes, shivering like crazy. "That thing's half frozen! It's going to take you a few minutes. By the time we get back, we'll all be ready to leave together."

Realization seemed to dawn on the boy. "Okay! You can count on me!"

Balthier groaned. Maybe he should have had Ashe do it. "Just…we'll be back as soon as we can, alright?" He looked up, peering into the train car he'd just left. Ashe and Penny stood close together, shaking as a bunch of snow blew in while Basch kept the pistol trained on Vossler. This was probably suicidal. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time. He turned around and hurried after Fran.

--

"Probably thinks he's some cowboy, charging in like that!" Ashe shouted next to his ear as a bunch of snow nearly blinded him. "He's going to get himself and Fran killed!"

Vaan's hands were half frozen even with his gloves as he kept twisting and tugging on the metal wheel that kept the train cars buckled together. Ashe needed to stop worrying about Balthier and start helping him out, but he didn't exactly know how to ask. This girl was really not one to take orders. "Balthier will be fine! He's a good shot!" he cried back as the wind made Ashe stagger in the doorway.

Ashe frowned and headed back inside to go worry some more.

--

Balthier stayed in front of her, and she wondered if he'd ever get over his chivalry. For someone in a life of crime, he was remarkably civilized and polite. She suspected that you could take Balthier out of upper crust Manhattan society, but you couldn't take upper crust Manhattan society out of Balthier. He'd probably curse at her if she said any such thing aloud, but she wouldn't. They were very good at keeping one another's secrets.

They only had one more empty car to go through before Ghis, and he paused before opening the compartment door. "Windows are frozen, fogged up," he muttered. "Going in blind."

"That hasn't stopped us before," she reminded him. They'd been in shootouts several times, none aboard a train in a blizzard, but there was a first time for everything. The train shook again, knocking the pair of them against the sides of the car.

Balthier sighed. "Three, plus Ghis makes four. I take the two furthest left, you the two on the right. All set?"

Fran enjoyed the comparative warmth of the train car as she nodded. Seconds later a blast of icy cold wind reached her face, and they stumbled out into the darkness, the last compartment door awaiting them.

--

Ashe paced nervously, although her pacing was interrupted every few seconds by a violent quaking of the train car. Basch suspected that one of the cars in between them and the front had gone slightly off the tracks, but not enough to fully derail the train. But he told her that Balthier and Fran would have to return quickly.

What was with this man? Ashe bit her lip and kept her arms tightly clutched around her as the snow blew into the train car. Balthier would gain no monetary reward by stealing back the paper for her. What could she give him in gratitude since she had nothing? All that she had of worth was in Vossler's home, and that was the last place she wanted to be.

Penny was out in the cold with Vaan working to uncouple the car while Basch kept the pistol trained on Vossler. "Why do you do this, Basch?" Vossler asked him, his voice laced with defeat. He'd tried and failed to negotiate with Archadia. Ashe knew there was no bargain that would satisfy Vayne Solidor's greed. Vossler had been a fool to try.

Basch regarded Vossler warily. "I do what Raminas asked...I am protecting Ashelia."

"Archadia would have let her go. You will only get her killed!"

Basch shook his head. "Don't be so naïve. These people locked me up like an animal. They would do that or worse to her!"

Ashe couldn't bear being talked about when she was in the room. "Enough! Both of you! This isn't helping! Vossler, help us unbuckle the car."

He looked at her angrily. "Ashie, no. I'm not helping a bunch of criminals. I can only advise you to change the company you keep."

Ashe watched the children struggle with the metal wheel, and she'd never been angrier in her life. "Basch, make him do it."

The gun hammer clicked, and Vossler looked disappointed in her. "I've only wanted to help you," he told her as he was coerced out into the cold. The shivering children seemed grateful to be relieved of their duty, and the pair of them hurried back into the train car. Vossler stepped across to the car in front.

"I'll pull on this side. Ashie, you pull there," Vossler reluctantly ordered over the sound of the wind. Basch stood by her side, keeping the gun on their friend turned traitor, and Ashe began to pull with all her might. She only hoped that Balthier and Fran would return safely.

--

Another violent shake of the train had allowed them to enter and have the four idle and surprised men shot in seconds. Balthier only had a graze in his suit jacket to show for it, and Fran emerged unscathed. He knelt down over Ghis, fumbling in the man's coat for Ashe's paper.

Fran stood beside him. "Hurry, they'll have that car uncoupled any second now."

Ghis was barely alive, and he tried to talk in between gasps. "You bastard."

"Been a long time coming. You got cocky, letting us alone in that back car," he told the man.

Balthier found the paper and wrenched it from the man's coat. "Formula..." Ghis coughed, spitting up blood. "Your father probably already knows the formula."

He shoved the paper in his own pocket and rose to his feet. "I don't know what you mean. Must have me mistaken for someone else."

Ghis smiled, teeth stained red. "Ffamran."

Fran silenced the man with another bullet as he looked away with a frown. He wouldn't be missing Andrew Ghis, that was for damn sure. The train swayed again violently, and he was startled when the door at the opposite end of the car flew open.

"Mr. Ghis, sir, the bridge..."

Balthier had his pistol out and ready, and the engineer gulped.

"What have you done to Mr. Ghis?"

Balthier cocked the gun. "Doesn't matter. What about the bridge?"

The train rocked once more, and even the engineer held on for dear life as the bodies of the goons started sliding across the floor at their feet. "The bridge is out!"

"What bridge?"

"The one over the river...I can see it all the way from here."

Fran waved her gun at the man. "So get out of here and stop the train!"

The engineer looked sheepish. "He..." The man pointed helplessly at Ghis. "I told him the brakes were being funny..."

Balthier and Fran exchanged a glance and without a second thought, they turned around and bolted from the car.

--

Basch knew they'd have no choice once the car unbuckled. They had to leave whether Balthier and Fran returned with the paper or not. Ashe and Vossler worked to tug on the wheel on either side of the car. Vaan and Penny shivered in the corner of the train car. He supposed that Balthier and Fran would take care of Ghis and his thugs, but what would they do now? Archadia would definitely step up their threats, and would Vossler even stick with them? Or would he run straight to Vayne Solidor?

There was little time to think about that as he heard Balthier's voice come ringing out into the night. "Get that unbuckled right now!"

Basch tossed the relatively useless gun back into the train car and stood beside Ashe to tug on it. The gangster and his partner climbed back across looking none the worse for wear.

"Hurry! We have little time left!" Fran shouted.

"What? Why?" Vossler asked.

"Bridge over the river's out. We need to get away from this train and fast!" Balthier explained. They tugged on the wheel harder and harder, the squeaking of the grinding metal hurting his ears. Was the train gaining speed?

"Why are we going faster?" Penny screamed from inside the car.

Balthier put a hand on his shoulder and shouted in his ear. "No brakes. Uncoupling should buy us some time, but we still have to jump for it." The night was dark, and Basch could only hope that the snow would cushion their fall.

"I think I got it!" Ashe cried, and Basch heard a loud clunk to indicate the separation of the cars.

"Back in the car, now!" Fran ordered, tugging on Ashe and pulling her into the car.

Balthier held out his hand. "Come on, Azelas, we need to jump out the back of this car."

But Basch saw the look on Vossler's face as their car started to pull away. It was the same look he'd always had before they jumped over the top. Resigned and withdrawn.

"_The easiest way to think of it," Vossler told him, attaching his bayonet with precision, "at least according to the lieutenant, is to come to terms with the fact that you're already dead."_

"_That's a bit reckless, don't you think?" Basch told him, readying his own bayonet for the coming charge._

_Vossler shrugged. The German artillery fire was roaring in the distance, and he knew it would be any moment now. "If it helps get me across this field today, then that's what I have to think."_

"Vossler, don't!" He and Balthier nearly lunged across, but it was already too late.

"Take care of her!" the lawyer called to him, and Basch could only stare in shock as the train cars separated and Vossler departed with the front of the train.

Ashe had fought her way back out into the cold, and Basch wanted to shield her from this. "Jump, damn you!" she screamed at him. "Vossler!"

Balthier already had the back of the car open and was getting Penny and Vaan ready to jump. "Basch! Ashe, let's go!"

Ashe was still screaming as Basch dragged her back through the car. She pounded her fists against him, but there was little to be done. The car was slowing without the engine and other cars pulling it, but if the bridge was really out as Balthier had said, they still had enough momentum to follow the rest of the train into the river. Vaan and Penny were already gone, and he watched Fran's leap.

Balthier waited at the edge of the car as Basch pulled Ashe along. "You have to jump, honey," he told her, trying to brush the hair from her eyes.

"And ten seconds ago would be great," Balthier noted, but with little malice. Basch heard a loud crash in the distance, and he knew the front of the train and Vossler had...

Ashe cried out in frustration, and Basch wished to do the same but would not for her sake. She needed him now...there was no one left to help her. Balthier waited as patiently as he could. Basch pulled her along to the side of the car. The snow blew in his face, and he hoped none of them would be injured in the leap. He leaned over the side to look ahead, only to see the river closing fast.

Balthier held onto his hat and jumped, and Basch all but pushed Ashe after him. He took a final glance off into the distance where he could see orange fire on the half frozen river. And he leapt into the snow.

--

Vaan's ankle hurt, but he was otherwise unharmed. Of course, it wasn't every day he jumped off a moving train car. He was lucky that uncoupling the car had slowed the speed. He found Penny a few feet away, and though the night was dark, he could hear Fran calling for them, and they moved toward the sound of her voice.

When they reached the others, Balthier was uselessly brushing snow off his jacket while Fran shivered in the cold air. Basch stood silently over Ashe, who was on her knees sobbing. But where was Vossler?

"I think he stayed on the train," Penny whispered, her voice full of disbelief.

He could see the flames in the distance, wondering why the lawyer had decided to stay behind. But that was between Vossler and God, he supposed. Vaan moved to comfort Ashe, but Balthier shook his head vehemently. The gangster waved him over.

"Last thing she needs is someone telling her they're sorry," the man said coldly.

"Why not?" he hissed back. "He was her friend!"

"Don't you know a thing about her yet?" Balthier snarled. "She won't want us to remember she broke down like this, so just look away and let her cry it out, alright?"

Vaan really didn't understand, but he supposed that Ashe, Balthier and the others had a different view of things than he and Penny did. For her part, Penny stayed by his side, holding his arm tightly to remain standing in the cold.

He kept an eye on Ashe, and she finally stood up and her face was like stone. Vaan was flabbergasted by the transformation. Balthier had been absolutely right, but Ashe really shouldn't be bottling these things up. At least that's what he thought. "There will be people coming to investigate the crash," the girl announced. "We better find shelter."

Balthier gave him a knowing look then and walked over to her. "There has to be a barn around here," he told her. "Let's follow the tracks back."

Fran and Basch took the lead, Balthier walking in tandem with Ashe. He and Penny hung back, and up until now, he'd felt like just another part of the gang. But now a man was dead, someone who had in fact betrayed them, but he'd still meant something to Ashe...and Basch, too. Whatever that paper was, it was worth their lives. He hoped the others would let him and Penny in on it if they were all going to share the risk.

Speaking of the paper, he saw Balthier pull it from his pocket and offer it to Ashe. Their fingers grazed as she took it from him. Vaan couldn't read the look on her face as she looked up at the gangster, but it was something between gratitude and despair. She stuffed it back in her coat pocket and hurried ahead after Basch.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**December 4, 1931 **

**Mysterious Solidor Train Crash Claims 8; Archadia Due for Reshuffle?**

**By R. Zecht, _Tribune _Staff Reporter**

REVERE, Mo. – The deadly train crash along the Santa Fe Chief line has left local authorities baffled. A private train owned by Archadia Industries (NYSE: ARCH) crashed into the Des Moines River where it divides Iowa and Missouri the night of December 1st. The wreckage was only discovered late the following morning by another train traveling along the tracks northeast from Kansas City on the way to Chicago.

The first several cars were submerged in the half frozen river, and Clark County Sheriff Cecil Harvey claims that the investigation is slow going due to the inclement weather. Storms have already dropped two feet of snow across most of the Midwest with more blizzard conditions in the forecast. The bodies of seven men in the employ of Vayne Solidor's outfit in Chicago have been recovered, including that of the engineer. An eighth body has been tentatively identified as Vossler Azelas, a lawyer from the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago. Mr. Azelas, a decorated veteran of the Great War, operated a small firm in the Loop.

Archadia Industries' Chicago office and Solidor himself have released no comments to the press in regards to the incident at the Missouri-Iowa border. However, the recent grumblings in New York about the missing younger Solidor son and this latest intrigue have prompted some on the company's board to call for Vayne Solidor to be ousted as CEO. Only time will tell what is to come for this troubled company.

--

"I do not like that you travel alone, Master Larsa," she told him firmly. "I will not be able to cover your absence for much longer. Even the papers have noticed that something is amiss."

The young boy's cheerful voice chuckled over the telephone line. "Miss Drace, you worry too much about me. It's far too cold for anyone to try and rob me. Besides, I have solid leads on the whereabouts of my newest friends."

Helen Drace gripped the receiver tightly, wishing she could be with her charge. Larsa's insistence on leaving New York for "business reasons" had not sat well with her, but with the boy's brother bungling things in Chicago, it was probably a good idea that Larsa find allies. Archadia Industries was threatened, and with the elder son finding out about Gramis' newest will...

"I have to go, the library's opening soon."

"Very well," she replied. "I expect another call this evening."

"And you'll get one, unless someone stabs me to death."

"No gallows humor, Master Larsa. If your father could hear you right now..."

"Fine, fine," he said with a chuckle. "I'll call in tonight. Goodbye, Miss Drace."

The line went dead, and she hung up the telephone. Larsa was in St. Louis, believing that the B'Nargin girl would be in the area. The young man hadn't told her everything, but what he had was damning indeed. The heir to the R.A. Banastre company was not dead after all – and Vayne was trying to capture her for information key to the company labs. Drace had no idea what this information was, but now Ghis was dead and that crackpot Cid Bunansa was more secretive than ever down in his labs.

She had the car brought around, and Drace pulled her coat around her tightly. The wind was bitterly cold outside the Solidor family brownstone, and she was grateful to get into the sedan. The streets were slick from ice, but the driver took her south past Central Park and down to 34th Street. The company's new offices were near the top of the gigantic Empire State Building, and Drace shook her head ruefully. Gramis had truly built the company up from its humble origins across the Hudson in New Jersey.

When he'd made his first million, Helen Drace was in her mid-twenties and fresh off the boat from Ipswich. The war had cost her three brothers, the only family she had left. There hadn't been any reason to stay. She hadn't come to America with any particular employment in mind and had lucked into her current position as governess and tutor for the Solidor children. Vayne had been a teenager back then, having just lost his mother during his brother Larsa's birth. The past twelve years had been a learning experience. Gramis, lost without his wife, had kept Drace close and so she was privy to more of the company's secrets than most others.

She entered the grand lobby of the building and took the elevator up. Gramis' secretary greeted her warmly. "Miss Drace, he's just in a meeting with the board...if you'd like to wait..."

Drace smiled sweetly, moving straight past the secretary's desk. "No need." The younger woman's face registered shock as Drace opened the double doors and let herself in. She ignored the cigar smoke and throat clearing of the elderly men in the room as she moved to perch herself on Gramis' desk. The old man gave her a wink, then turned back to the table with the men gathered around. This meeting was about Vayne, and she'd be damned if she wasn't a part of it.

Gramis' lawyer gave her a nod. "Helen." The man turned back to a stack of papers before him. "Sir, we know that Margrace Oil is putting out feelers in Chicago. Albert's going to visit in the coming week or so. We could probably expect a buy-out by the end of the next quarter."

Drace kept her smile to herself, knowing that Larsa himself had a meeting planned with the flamboyant oilman. She was enormously proud of the young Solidor, reaching out to the Margrace family when his father and brother wouldn't bother.

One of the older board members sipped some brandy. "We haven't even begun to assess the loss of manpower and money that financed that ridiculous train incident in the Midwest, sir. Margrace knows we're headed for dire straits."

"If your son hadn't spent company money so capriciously..."

"Vayne needs to answer for his poor decision making, sir..."

"He can't be allowed to stay in Chicago. He's sinking us all..."

Gramis took this all in with a few puffs of his Cuban cigar. "Hmm...so gentlemen, you would make me choose between this company and my son?"

The sniveling man with the toupee that Drace had never liked nodded. "A most lamentable choice, sir." She rolled her eyes, knowing that the men weren't paying her a second thought.

"But Larsa will be a fine replacement, as soon as he is older. We should think of the future here in New York, Mr. Solidor. Chicago has been a fine experiment," another noted, and Drace could feel the tension grow in the room. Everyone knew the old man was dying, and Larsa was a mere boy. The Solidors might not hold Archadia Industries' reins for much longer.

Gramis was no fool. "Larsa adores his brother." The elder Solidor sloshed his drink around, meeting eyes with each conniving man at the table. "Wouldn't want anyone to encourage the boy to grow up too soon."

"But with your will, sir. We know Vayne's temper and..." the lawyer interrupted, and Drace hurried to Gramis' side as the man began to cough vigorously. She shot the men a dirty look and gave him her handkerchief. Keeping her eyes from growing misty, she tried to hide the blood he was coughing up by standing in front of him. That these horrible men would think Vayne capable of harming his baby brother - it sickened her. But knowing the Pinkertons' loyalty to Vayne, trouble could be afoot...

Gramis waved her off, his eyes wary from the burden of loving his son, yet knowing the young man's ambitions. "I've sent a telegram out this morning. Vayne will report to me by the end of the week to discuss all this."

The board members whispered amongst themselves as Gramis descended into another bout of coughing. Drace thought of Larsa alone in St. Louis and prayed for him to be strong. He had to be, if these horrible men got their way.

--

Their time in the boarding house was waning, and Ashe was the only one who hadn't yet emerged for the day. Basch and Balthier were already arguing over the sorry remainder of the group's money, since the Pinkertons had taken Balthier's wallet. Only Ashe had money left since she'd been clever enough to hide it in her brassiere. Penny was amazed that Balthier had kept his thoughts to himself on that measure, but she supposed that the man knew that a young woman in mourning was off limits for teasing.

The loss of Vossler had clearly taken its toll on her, and Ashe had eaten and slept little the past few days. The group had decided not to make a move until she was well, but with their money near depleted and the others growing antsy, it wast time to move on whether Ashe was feeling better or not. Penny took to the steps, knocking on the door to the room they'd shared the past two nights. No answer. She opened the door quietly, spying the heiress standing by the window watching the snow fall.

Penny approached slowly, seeing that Ashe had a photograph in her hand. Glancing down, she could see Ashe and a good looking young man smiling happily for the camera. It must have been Rasler, the person she'd been engaged to a few years back...before he'd been murdered. "He was very handsome," Penny told her, and Ashe looked away from the window to nod at her.

"Yes, he was. And very kind."

Penny didn't know how to handle these situations, so she decided it was best to just move on to the next subject. "We're all downstairs figuring out where to go from here. Balthier's had trouble getting a hold of Nono..."

"Nono?" Ashe asked curiously.

She laughed. "That's Balthier's...business partner or something. Has a long Polish last name, so they just call him Nono. He's very...jovial?"

Ashe smirked. "Figures that Balthier would have interesting friends."

"Well, since Balthier can't reach him, we can't have him wire money. So we only have what you had left from..."

She'd really stepped in it now. The last thing Ashe needed was to be reminded of Vossler, but surprisingly, the other girl didn't seem that upset. Instead, Ashe patted her shoulder and walked away to get her coat. "I'll be downstairs in a moment. Sorry to keep you all waiting." Penny watched Ashe gingerly set the photograph of Rasler in the pocket of the coat, and she left the room quietly to give her some privacy.

The argument over the money was still going on in the parlor of the boarding house. "We can't get six people to Chicago on this," Balthier was arguing.

Basch looked exhausted. The man had obviously been close to Vossler too, and he hadn't gotten much sleep the past few nights either. "Why don't you take the children and go ahead? It's best we all split up..."

"And let Archadia pick us off one by one? No thanks, pal. They want us dead."

Penny snuck around to the back of the parlor where Vaan was sitting quietly. "How are things down here?" she whispered to her friend.

Vaan shrugged. "It's Ashe's money," he whispered back. "She should decide where we go."

Fran, seated on a piano bench in the opposite corner, cleared her throat. "We do have enough to make it to St. Louis. It is only a few hours by bus..."

Balthier shook his head immediately, cutting his friend off. "No, we'll find another way."

"What's wrong with St. Louis?" Basch inquired, but there was no answer as Ashe walked into the room, the large coat making her look smaller and thinner than ever.

"I could hear you shouting from the other room," she remarked with a rare grin. "Let's keep our voices down, hmm?"

Penny watched Basch visibly relax at the young woman's return and her lightened spirits, but Balthier and Fran appeared to be waging some war of wills. What was wrong with St. Louis? They were better off hiding in a large city weren't they? Three days in a small Missouri town weren't doing them any favors. Surely the others in the boarding house were growing suspicious of their strange group.

Ashe closed the parlor door, cutting them off from anyone in the lobby who might listen in. She sat down at a card table in the center of the room and took out the piece of paper from her father's bank box. Basch had kindly let her and Vaan know just how dangerous the chemical formula on it was. It seemed that their next move would be to get in touch with the two people mentioned on there, but without money, getting to Chicago would be difficult.

The young heiress set the paper down on the table, her fingers playing at the corners of the worn sheet. "They would kill any of us to know the contents." Ashe looked to her and Vaan. "I am sorry to have dragged you both into this."

Vaan was embarrassed and looked away, so Penny nodded in thanks for the both of them. As far as Vaan was concerned, helping Ashe to get rid of Archadia Industries was his new goal in life. If it could avenge Rex's death, Vaan would probably follow this young woman to the ends of the earth. Penny didn't much like danger, but she owed it to Miguel and the other children to keep an eye on the "big brother" in their home. Vaan always needed looking after. Considering that their area of Little Italy was now under surveillance, they owed it to their makeshift family to take the company down.

Ashe picked the paper up again, as it seemed to lend her some measure of strength to hold it – their only leverage against Archadia. "Such a chemical in the hands of a crazed man like Vayne Solidor would only bring destruction. We mustn't let them have this."

Balthier sighed, leaning his back heavily against the wall opposite Ashe. "They probably already have it, you know." There was something in his eyes that Penny didn't like. He was usually so confident and calm. But today, he was focused on something else, and she couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly. From the moment Ashe had walked in with the paper, he'd been on edge. "I bet that paper's only the confirmation one of their overworked and underpaid scientists needs to make a big batch of that Greek fire."

Tension grew, and she and Vaan exchanged worried glances. Did Balthier know something the rest didn't? Or was he just trying to get under Ashe's skin? Basch was watching the gangster warily but said nothing, choosing to sit and nurse a mug of coffee quietly at Ashe's side. But Balthier's words brought the young woman out of her seat. She clutched the paper in her hand and moved away from the card table.

"Then it's clear what we have to do," Ashe said, though Penny detected a wavering hesitation in her voice. "We concoct it ourselves, show it to them and make them back down. We can use R.A. Banastre's own labs...Basch is familiar with them." Penny watched Basch shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I will avenge my father's deaths...everyone Archadia's taken away..."

It was possible to hear a pin drop. Was she serious? Of course, Basch was a scientist. He probably knew how to make it...but to use something so dangerous? They'd all be arrested, or worse...maybe Balthier was right. Maybe Archadia already had it? Or had their own version of the deadly stuff? Ashe's thinking was suicidal for all of them.

Vaan raised his hand shyly, almost like a student in a schoolroom. "But Ashe, how do we even...I mean, do you know how you use something like that?"

Ashe was immediately flustered, looking at her feet. "I..."

Fran, who had watched all of this with some measure of calm, finally spoke up. Her voice was heavily accented, but steady, full of wisdom that had come with a longer life. Then again, Penny didn't know how old the woman was – but there was sadness in Fran's eyes that Penny hadn't really seen in another person before. She hoped that Ashe would heed whatever advice the other woman had to share. "Perhaps using the chemical is not our wisest course. But finding those people is easily done. Not here, but maybe in St. Louis..."

Penny watched Balthier's expression darken, but Ashe stepped closer, Fran's voice seeming to calm her agitation. "We could use their library," Fran explained. "Old newspapers, telephone books. We could find these people, warn them about Archadia before it is too late."

Ashe nodded. "It is dangerous for us to continue together, I know, but alone Archadia may capture us again and this time they may not be so...accommodating." The girl bit her lip, and Penny knew that Ashe had given the gangsters little financial incentive to follow her all this time. What in the world could the girl offer them for their continued help? What did Balthier and Fran really have to gain by helping Ashe? "Fran, Balthier...will you take me there?"

Fran nodded. "We have enough to transport us there by bus. I know of some accommodations we could have that will cost us little once we arrive. At least until we hear from Nono and can head back for Chicago."

Balthier stepped away from the wall, not liking the way the conversation had headed. "Still, it's not exactly close," he reminded Ashe.

The young woman stood firm. Of course, she'd been mostly asking Fran for help, but it appeared that Balthier would come along. The gangsters were a package deal. "Compensation? Is that what you want?" Ashe asked, her exasperation always seeming to rise in Balthier's presence.

"Straight to the point, aren't we? I like that," the gangster said with a rather inappropriate leer. Penny watched Basch grip the coffee mug tighter, but still the man stood back. It seemed that he would let Ashe make her own decisions. Balthier took a glance at the tiny pile of money that was laid out near Basch, the only money all six had remaining to them. Penny didn't like the look on Balthier's face then. It seemed unlike him, almost cruel in a way. "Compensation, hmm? How about the ring?"

"This?" Ashe mumbled, her right hand immediately closing over the diamond engagement ring on her left. "Isn't there something else?"

Penny wanted to say something. Ashe had been upstairs moments earlier clutching the picture of Rasler. How could Balthier take one of her last memories of him away? She'd known his profession all along – a thief, a criminal, but he'd been so...kind. Penny couldn't think of any other word for the gentlemanly way Balthier had conducted himself until now. He'd seized on Ashe's weakness and was now exploiting it.

The man ignored the clear distress of the young woman before him, extending his hand towards Ashe. "No one's forcing you," he remarked in a matter-of-fact way, though Penny knew that Ashe had very little choice if she wished to continue onward. What other options did she have? Ashe would never lower herself to panhandling or hitchhiking her way back to Chicago. She needed help, and though Fran was the one who would be providing it, Balthier had pounced on the opportunity to knock Ashe low. Penny wanted to scream at him – she probably would later.

Ashe looked miserable, at least in Penny's estimations. She slid the ring down her slender finger, and her hand was shaking as she held it out to Balthier. The gangster didn't seem as sympathetic as he had been in the past few days with the Vossler business. He took the ring from her quivering fingers and examined it in the light of the room. "I'll give it back to you, sweetheart. This is just for the time being. You'll get it back when I find something more valuable."

His casual tone finally got to Ashe. Penny watched the young woman's eyes begin to water, and she turned to storm out. The room remained quiet as they heard Ashe run up the stairs to their rooms. A few moments later, Basch rose from his seat and followed after her. Balthier slid the ring into his pocket, and Penny was surprised to see the easy and flippant smile on his face revert almost immediately to a more dour look. Had he acted cruel against his own wishes? What was the point of treating Ashe like that?

Vaan looked as gloomy as Penny herself felt. He stood up and walked over to Balthier cautiously. "What did you mean by 'something more valuable' anyhow?"

Balthier shrugged. "Eh, hard to say. I'll know it when I find it." The man walked past to leave the room. "What are _you_ looking for, huh Vaan?"

Balthier's behavior was puzzling, and Penny wasn't sure what the next few days were going to be like. Fran was beside her and Vaan then. "Come along, let's go buy the bus tickets. The station is just down the street." Penny wanted to see how Ashe was doing, but maybe it was best for her to be on her own for a little while. She and Vaan followed Fran out and into the cold December morning.

--

The next bus to St. Louis wasn't leaving until the following morning. The snows had mucked the schedule up quite a bit, and so they were stuck in the boarding house one more night. Their money had gone entirely for the tickets, so the children and Basch had earned the entire group's keep by serving dinner and cleaning up afterward. The elderly couple running the establishment had been grateful for the assistance. Vaan and Penny had taken a real liking to Basch, and Fran was impressed with the way he dealt with their younger companions. She could only imagine that Ashe would warm up to the man again soon enough.

She hadn't seen Balthier since supper. Every telephone call to Nono went unanswered, confirming her suspicions. It seemed that the Pinkertons were keeping their eye on their friend as well. They would find their way well enough in St. Louis, but a safe haven in Chicago in the days to come wasn't something they could rely upon. Not that Fran wished to stay in Johanna's home, and knowing that Johanna herself would be less than welcoming, she'd been rehearsing her pleas all day. Her sister was occasionally cruel, but surely she'd understand their need to lay low.

The others were already upstairs resting for the night when she found Balthier sitting alone in the parlor nursing a drink. Where he'd gotten the liquor in a small town like this she wouldn't know, but the young man had his ways. Balthier was leaning back in a cushioned chair, tapping his foot along with the Fleischmann's Yeast Hour. The band was playing a lively tune, and the room's radio had fairly decent sound all things considered.

He wasn't drunk, but he was in a mood, Fran noticed. He glanced at her when she closed the door behind her. "Betty Co-Ed is loved by every college boy," he informed her, singing along with the show. "But I'm the one who's loved by Betty Co-Ed."

"Rudy Vallee?" she asked him, and he nodded. "No Amos n Andy on tonight?"

He smiled. "You hate that show."

She sat beside him and listened to the rather silly lyrics to the song. It was about a young woman who enticed men at colleges across the country – a song subject that clearly interested Balthier. She often wondered if things had gone differently that night they met – would he have lived a more law-abiding life? Would he have gone on to university? Would he be a successful businessman in a legitimate trade? But it seemed that college was the furthest thing from her dear friend's mind that evening. When the song ended, the program went to an advertisement, and Balthier switched the radio off.

Fran watched him fidget with his glass of alcohol and then with the pocket of his trousers. She knew precisely what he was nervous about. "Come now, why did you take her ring?"

He shrugged. "She hasn't paid us. For anything, you know. I thought it was the right thing to do. At least keep us from being heroic, Fran. We're not heroic. We're mercenaries."

She frowned. "It was her wedding ring."

"Engagement ring," he corrected her, pulling the thing from his pocket. "Diamond's worth quite a lot. Might need to pawn it if we keep running into these money troubles."

"You wouldn't stoop so low. Do not act as though you are some villain, Balthier, because you are an open book to me."

He looked away, back to his glass. The young man had been troubled since learning of his father's involvement with the mysterious Greek fire. Though Balthier had run away from New York and his father's world, it appeared that he would not be able to run forever. Not now that their fates seemed to be entwined with that of Miss B'Nargin.

When he remained silent, she decided to press him a bit. "You will not tell her that your father and 'Cid B' are the same?"

"Fran..."

"You wish for her to hate you? You expect her to? Is that why you act so cavalier and snatch the only thing precious to her? Du bist nicht..."

"Alright, alright, don't go cursing me in your mother tongue, okay?" He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "Stop with the Freud stuff. Next you'll be telling me about my mother and all that other crazy psychoanalytic garbage." He set down the glass, shoved the ring deep into his pocket and stood up shakily. "You wanted me to leave her alone. If she hates the sight of me, I think that does the job well enough."

She watched him storm out. Balthier did not like being out of control of anything. He disliked when events occurred without his consent. This business with Ashelia B'Nargin was spiraling out of the young man's control, reminding him of a life he'd thought long gone. And heading to St. Louis was a burden to him as well. He'd long blamed himself for her ongoing separation from Johanna and Mia, but Fran knew she had no one to blame but herself.

She shook her mind of bad memories, knowing that their time in St. Louis would be clouded enough with them. Fran took the glass from the table where Balthier had abandoned it, downing the remainder of its contents. They would face the next day together – she could only hope that Johanna would let them stay.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

They'd reach St. Louis before noon, and as far as Ashe was concerned, it couldn't be soon enough. Snow flurries blew past the window of the bus. Their strange group had parked themselves at various places within the large vehicle, doing their best to maintain a low profile. She sat in the back seat alone, though Basch had insisted on sitting close enough to keep an eye on her.

Her finger felt sadly bare without Rasler's ring, and her nervous habit of twisting it around in distress was now impossible. She'd gotten an amused chuckle out of Vaan that morning – she'd managed to shred half a packet of tissues while waiting for the bus to arrive. The plan for the day was straightforward – make their way to the St. Louis Public Library and find information about Anastasis and whoever Cid B was. After that, the group was to apparently stay with Fran's sisters and wait for Balthier's associate to send them money to return to Chicago.

She hated that she had to rely upon Balthier's friend, a man she had never met. Ashe supposed that she had few options – she was far from Vossler's home and any money that might have remained to her. She figured that Vossler's home would be under Pinkerton watch by now anyway. Her privacy was interrupted then by the one person she did not wish to speak with.

Balthier sat down beside her on the cold seat and sighed. "Need to escape. Vaan's trying to ask me about girls of all things."

She was unamused. Did he expect them to be buddies now after what he'd said and done the day before? "I doubt you'd have much good advice to share," she remarked, amazed at the shrill sound of her voice. Basch's head inclined slightly, hinting to her that he was listening and prepared to intervene if Balthier tried another callous act.

He ignored her insult. Balthier pushed his hat down over his eyes and kept his voice just as low. "So you find these guys in a phone book. Then what? Show up at their door and tell them to get the hell out of Dodge?"

Ashe shrugged. "They knew my father, probably trusted him to some extent. At least if he was paying them to translate the document in the first place. I just..." Her thoughts drifted to Vossler as they had done so often these past few days. "I don't want anyone else to die needlessly. Especially if I could prevent it."

He crossed his arms, and she had to admit that he was behaving far better than the previous day. Maybe getting paid helped, she thought bitterly. "How do you know these men aren't already on Archadia's payroll? They may not have been so fond of your father, especially after realizing just what that paper was. Maybe they sold him out."

"Are all men as cynical as you, Balthier?"

He grinned at that. "I hope so." She tried not to return the smile but failed. "But I am surprised that you are not. After all the malarkey Archadia's put you and your loved ones through, you're quick to run to the rescue of men your father met years and years ago."

Balthier had a point. Wouldn't these men's safety be ensured if she simply destroyed the document? And Cid B or Anastasis very well could have informed Archadia about the Greek fire components, but what if they hadn't? What if they were innocent men? Translators, scientists...if she could save them, or even better, convince them to join her, couldn't they testify against Archadia? Her uncle would do nothing since she was dead to the world, but if she found trustworthy and respected men to take a stand against Archadia, R.A. Banastre might yet be recovered.

She explained as much to Balthier, her voice growing animated and far more confident as she explained her intentions in contacting the two men on her father's document. He watched her carefully as she spoke, finally raising a hand to stop her. "First things first, sweetheart. You have to be prepared for the worst."

Ashe gritted her teeth. "I've been prepared to do whatever it takes to save my father's company since the day he died. I swore to overcome anything. I made that resolve two years ago!"

He rose from the seat, seeing that Vaan was now occupied in conversation with Penny. "Man cannot live by resolve alone, you know." And with that, her confidence mellowed and he strolled off to sit behind Fran once more. He was right, she thought darkly. Why was he always right?

--

The bus station was only a few blocks from the main branch of the public library, so the group had decided to find their information first. It might take all day, Vaan realized, but it was kind of like a treasure hunt in a way. Finding Anastasis would probably be easier since they knew he was from the University of Chicago. But 'Cid B, Columbia' wasn't as good a clue. Columbia University? Maybe, but it wasn't a guarantee and without a last name it would be almost impossible.

Finally arriving at 13th and Olive Street, their group marched up the library steps, the stark white building looking fairly imposing. Passing under the archway, they entered the hushed library. Vaan had never really been to any of the libraries in Chicago, not having a lot of time to read anyhow. It was early afternoon, and there were plenty of people sitting at tables reading or studying.

Spotting a sign at the far end of the large floor, he sprinted ahead. "Newspapers! They probably keep the phone books there!"

Before he could take a few steps, an imposing woman with her hair tightly coiled, her lips pressed firmly together, and large glasses appeared before him. Vaan nearly fell over to slow from his run to not moving at all. The woman scowled at him, her eyes looking enormous behind the round frames of her glasses. "This is a library!" she whispered loudly at him, taking her time to eyeball each of them suspiciously. "No place for children to play games!"

Ashe looked horrified, Basch embarrassed, and Penny angry with him. Fran and Balthier had taken the opportunity to walk off in the direction of the newspapers, completely avoiding the librarian's scolding. Another staff member, a friendlier looking elderly man wandered over. "Can't you see that they are cold? They're not causing any harm."

The other librarian was suspicious, but the man patted her on the shoulder. "They look like nice young people. What brings you to our library?"

This was not an answer they had rehearsed since they'd spent most of the bus ride separated. They'd meant to come in, get their information quietly and leave. And now he'd screwed things up with his big mouth. Would these librarians be following them everywhere? Looking over their shoulders as they searched for the men on Ashe's paper?

Basch stepped forward, putting a comforting arm around Vaan's shoulders. "We were hoping you could point us to the telephone books? We're looking up information on a friend."

"You could have called the operator," the female librarian scolded, finally walking away to shush some other visitors. The man, however, was far kinder.

He beckoned for them to follow him. "Of course, we have many telephone books near our reference desk. I am Mr. Supinelu if you have any questions. Please, this way if you will?"

Vaan hung back, letting Basch and Ashe follow the nice older man past tables and bookshelves. Penny took the time to elbow him hard in the side as soon as the grumpy old woman was nowhere in sight. "Good going, Vaan," she complained.

The man moved back behind the desk where a man even older than him was seated with some large tome open before him. Mr. Supinelu nudged the older librarian. "Mr. Garifson, sir, these folks were looking for help with the telephone books. They're trying to find a friend."

The older man nodded. "Yes, yes. Phone books, we have many phone books. What book do you want, young lady?"

Ashe stood before the desk, and Vaan could see her foot tapping nervously. Balthier and Fran were visible at a table beyond, and they already had several newspapers spread out before them. "Chicago please, south side if you have anything that specific."

Mr. Garifson and Mr. Supinelu nodded as if they shared the same mind. Mr. Garifson rattled off some long complicated call number, and Supinelu moved off to retrieve it from some back room beyond the reference desk. The man returned shortly after, lugging a book. He set it down on the counter before Ashe. "Nothing for the south side, young lady, but the whole city at least. Best of luck."

Ashe grabbed the book with a hushed thank you, and the four of them moved to a table out of earshot from the two men at the reference desk. Vaan sat beside her and glanced through the start of the A's in the book. Basch and Penny moved over to check on Balthier and Fran's progress, leaving him alone with Ashe for the first time.

Vaan had never really met any girls like Ashe before. He'd usually stuck with people from his own neighborhood – a girl like Ashelia Amalia B'Nargin would never set foot in Little Italy. She was the kind of girl that got written up in society columns. Of course, he'd heard that she existed when Rex had worked at R.A. Banastre, but she was just a person who had her own horse and a closet the size of Miguel's entire store.

Then again, the past two years had definitely brought Ashe closer to his level, at least financially. But, Vaan realized, poverty was something that Ashe had clearly not accepted. Even now, her clothes were in good shape and her coat was made from warm-looking wool. He shook his head. It was surprising that a girl like Ashe would even talk to him, but he supposed that she didn't see him so much as a new friend but as just another person who could get her back where she belonged. If they took down Archadia, would she even speak with him or Penny again?

He was probably being unfair. Ashe had been through a lot, even more than he had. She needed him and Penny – and if he wanted his own life back, then he had to help her out. He watched the young woman's eyes flit quickly over name after name, and her expression brightened considerably. She looked up and grinned. "Can you get me a pencil and paper?"

Since Ashe was still in the A's for Chicago, he assumed that she'd found Anastasis. He nodded and moved back to the desk, procuring some scratch paper and a pencil. Vaan presented them to her almost reverently, knowing that he very well could have gotten them all kicked out from the library. He watched Ashe scrawl down a name, Konstantinos Anastasis, and then an address that would place the man on the south side – it had to be a University of Chicago professor!

She stuffed the paper in her coat pocket and rose excitedly from her seat. If this had been so easy, surely Cid B wouldn't be that hard to track down. Ashe tugged his arm, pulling him over to Balthier and Fran's table. Vaan imagined that the grumpier librarian would be annoyed to see the open phone book left behind on the other table. She beamed at their companions and talked in an excited whisper.

"He's in Hyde Park!" she said, barely containing herself. Vaan hadn't seen her so happy before. "What about Cid B, Columbia? Do we all think it's Columbia in New York?"

Fran looked up from a stack of newspapers with a guarded look, but Basch standing behind Balthier at the table shook his head. "Going through papers will be impossible, and without a last name, I don't see how phone books will help."

Ashe was ready to pout, her initial victory not seeming to keep her in joyous spirits for very long. "We have a first name and a location. And this is a library," she pointed out. "We'll find him!" The young woman stomped off to speak with Mr. Garifson once more, effectively abandoning them all to the newspapers.

Balthier tossed his hat down on the table, leaning back in the chair. "It could be a misspelling. Could be Colombia in South America."

"Raminas had no dealings in South America," Basch retorted. "Giving up so soon?" The older man snatched a pile of old _Chicago Tribunes_ from Balthier's pile and sat down at the other end of the study table.

The next few minutes passed slowly. Fran paged through a New York paper, her chin resting on her hand. "You were the closest to Mr. B'Nargin, were you not?" she asked Basch. "And if you don't even know who this man is, you can't expect us to know who Cid B is..." Fran's gaze shifted from the newspaper to Balthier for some reason, causing the gangster to rise from his seat and stretch suddenly.

"I'm going to hit the head," Balthier grumbled, walking off in a huff. Penny settled herself down in front of Balthier's newspapers, her eyes hinting that maybe he should check to see if Ashe was having any luck at the reference desk.

Vaan wandered over to see Ashe appearing rather disappointed. There were stacks of books in front of Garifson, and Mr. Supinelu emerged with a whole other pile. The older man was shaking his head at her when he approached. "You ask a very specific question, one not very suited to our holdings, I'm afraid. I am very sorry, miss. I don't think I could help you."

He barely even noticed the shorter boy approaching before he was tugging on the sleeve of Ashe's coat. "Maybe I could help you out?"

Penny had already scurried over as Ashe turned around in surprise at the latest arrival. "Larsa?" his friend whispered in amazement.

Vaan scratched his head in confusion. It really was him. They hadn't seen him since the zeppelin in Pennsylvania. How the heck had he managed to find them all the way here? Larsa linked his arm with Ashe's and led her back to the group's table, the librarians shrugging and going back to their work. By that time, Balthier had returned from the washroom and was just as shocked to see Vayne Solidor's younger brother as the rest of them.

The boy had a schoolbag strapped to his back, but his cheeks were pale instead of chapped. He'd been in the library for a while. Had he been waiting for them? For how long? The young man looked around cautiously. "Nice to see you all again."

Basch set down the newspaper he was checking. "Young Master Solidor, what are you...?"

Larsa shook his head. "Could we go speak somewhere else? I promise, I will explain. I've been using the study carrels way in the back. We'll have more privacy there."

"A group of seven standing around in the back of the library? No, that wouldn't look strange at all," Balthier complained, but Ashe was still so confused by Larsa's sudden appearance that she followed the younger boy as he led them to the rear of the building. When they were all settled again, a rather large shelf of outdated maps keeping them concealed, Larsa set down his bag and addressed Ashe.

"You've been very hard to track down, Miss B'Nargin. I was in Kansas City a day behind you and then with the train crash, I could only imagine you'd go to the nearest large city. Your friend, Mr. Azelas, well you see...he called Mr. Ghis about the paper you have, and then one of my friends in Mr. Ghis' cohort, rest his soul, called me..."

"You've been following us? All by yourself?" Penny interjected. "Why?"

The boy grew serious. "My father's company...my brother...they've wronged you, all of you. I'm trying to make this right. And I figured you would be heading for Chicago again. I was hoping you'd let me accompany you."

"We don't need your help, kid," Balthier told him coldly, but Larsa was undeterred.

"You want R.A. Banastre back, and I know that my father holds it illegally. I also know that it's bleeding funds. It would be good business sense to turn it back over to the rightful owner and help my father avoid government intervention. You all may not know this, but with what happened to Mr. Azelas, Secretary Ondore has been calling friends in Congress...they're thinking of holding a hearing, and my father...his health is so poor lately..."

Fran's eyes were positively mirthful, although most of what Larsa was saying was going over Vaan's head. "So much knowledge for one little boy," the older woman remarked.

Larsa seemed fit to bursting, he had so much to tell them. "If Ondore can rally Congress against Archadia...it might propel Margrace Oil into action since they're looking to move into our markets. They might push for the government to shut down my father's entire operation, and believe me, they've got the lawyers and lobbyists for it..."

"What's a lobbyist?" Vaan inquired cautiously, but the others ignored him.

"We're in a library," Penny whispered to him. "Look it up."

He rolled his eyes and elbowed the girl. "Yeah, like you have any idea what he's talking about."

Ashe tried to get Larsa to pause and take a breath. "Hold on, would you?"

"Miss B'Nargin, if we work together, it benefits the pair of us..."

Ashe finally stopped Larsa, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Benefits? Why should I do anything that would benefit Archadia Industries? They murdered my father! Stole everything I hold dear!" If Ashe didn't quiet down, they'd get booted from the library for sure. Balthier was already looking around nervously, and Fran kept peeking around the corner of the shelves for signs of the nasty librarian.

But Larsa continued to press her, squirming out of her grasp. "You don't know what my brother is capable of...you know what's on that paper, Miss B'Nargin, and both Margrace Oil or my brother would do whatever it takes to get it from you."

Ashe quieted down at the reminder of the burden the Greek fire document put on them all. Why hadn't they destroyed it? What if everything Balthier had been saying was true – what if Archadia already had it and was just trying to make sure nobody else – like Margrace Oil – could get it first?

Larsa picked up his schoolbag and slung it over his shoulder. Vaan had a hard time believing someone so young was capable of such vast knowledge, but the Solidors had the money to educate themselves more than the average person. "Look, I'm sorry. I know this is all so sudden, and you already have trouble concealing yourselves from my brother. But keep me as a hostage. Use me as leverage or something."

Ashe raised an eyebrow at that. "We're due to leave for Chicago as soon as we have the funding. I don't suppose you could help get all seven of us there?"

Larsa nodded, patting his bag. "I knew you'd come around." He got ready to depart the library, and Vaan wondered if Larsa thought all of this was some crazy adventure like in pulp magazines. "And conveniently enough, I have an associate waiting in Chicago that I'd like you to meet."

"Who is that?" Ashe asked.

Larsa smiled. "An enemy...and an ally, I suppose. You'll just have to see. But if I'm to travel with you, we'll need train tickets, and I have most of my money in a safe at my hotel. Can I meet you all somewhere?"

Fran scrawled down an address on some scratch paper. "We stay at my sister's house tonight until we can take the train north. You will meet us there."

"And I'll go with him to make sure we're not being fooled. Balthier, why don't you come too?" Basch said quietly, giving Ashe a reassuring look. "We'll get the tickets and meet you in a few hours."

The older man, the gangster and Larsa departed, leaving them all rather quiet. Vaan was still confused by everything going on. "That Larsa likes his secrets."

Ashe had a small grin on her face. "I don't think he means any harm by it."

"He's not a bad kid," he agreed with her. "Ya know, for someone from Archadia Industries."

Fran buttoned her coat. "We've done all we can here. Let us move on. We must catch a few different buses to get to Johanna's house." She and Penny moved on ahead while he and Ashe lagged behind.

Vaan waved to the librarians at the reference desk while Ashe looked lost in thought. She had something in her hand as they exited the library and stood by the bus stop. He stood by her side while Fran and Penny waited on a bench a few feet away. Without Basch, he supposed it was his job to keep an eye on her. Not like she needed protecting, but he was just as invested in this whole thing as Ashe was. Of course, for different reasons entirely.

Ashe was frowning, and Vaan saw that she was holding that picture of her fiance again. Even in the cold, she held the picture while he kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets. "Um, so that was Rasler?" She nodded, putting the picture away. "I mean, I knew _you_ existed. My brother worked for your dad's...well, your company. I just...you know, I didn't know there was all this with your fiance. I'm really sorry."

"Basch mentioned your brother, Rex." Ashe met his eyes in sympathy, a look he had not really seen from her, at least aimed in his direction before. "I remember him. I saw him often when I visited my father. I'm very sorry about what happened."

Vaan shrugged, moving from one foot to the other to try and stay warm. "It's okay. He loved working there, but..." The memory bubbled up, and no matter how hard he tried to keep it down, it wouldn't go away. "Rex wasn't even supposed to be there that night. He was working late, you know...how much is another hour of work for an office boy? A quarter? Forty cents? But we had no money..."

Ashe stood closer. "He wanted to take care of his family."

He shook his head, thinking of the simple gravestone in Graceland Cemetery. "How can he take care of us when he's dead? What about Rasler? He was going to marry you and take care of you..." He prodded a small patch of snow on the ground with his shoe. "I mean, it's different what happened to him, but it's still Archadia's fault. I think about it all the time, I've had two years. But I've never done anything about it. I'd just do stupid stuff, read about Capone and gangsters and steal wallets just to feed the other kids at Miguel's place. I ran away from it..never did anything about what happened to Rex."

A bus came around the corner, startling him. Ashe wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, and they shuffled along for the bus. "I'm done running away," he told her as the bus pulled up. "I'm going to help you beat them, no matter what it takes. Do you think we've got enough to go on with this Anastasis business?"

"I wish I knew," she answered him honestly, and they boarded the bus behind Fran and Penny.

--

They waited in the lobby of the hotel for Larsa. Basch was amazed that someone so young was able to travel so far and not get hurt or robbed. But the young Solidor was remarkably intelligent, directing the three of them to his accommodations as if he'd lived in St. Louis his whole life. Even Balthier had commented on the young man's skilled navigation of the snowy streets.

But now that they were alone for a few moments, Basch could ask what he could not before. Ever since the bank vault in Kansas City, the gangster had been acting strangely. Not like he knew the man's usual behavior that well in the few weeks they'd been acquainted, but the increasing seriousness in Balthier's demeanor and his fluctuating moods in Ashe's presence were beginning to worry him. If Vossler had left Ashe in his care, then Basch needed to suss out any threats to her.

The man was a criminal and a con artist – Basch didn't need Balthier selling them all out to Archadia after playing friend for so long. But money was the name of Balthier's game, whether in cash or in rings given by dead men. Surely he intended to collect more than Ashe had to give, and Basch didn't need the young woman making an unwise choice to keep Balthier in a helpful mood. He'd seen the way they looked at each other when the other wasn't looking, and the last thing his young charge needed was a criminal for a boyfriend.

"Don't imagine Archadia will expect us to go back to Chicago, do you? It's suicidal at best," he mused aloud, and Balthier chuckled.

"Don't get your hopes up. They've got a network of spies that the government would probably envy," the younger man replied. "We'll have to be quick. Looking for this professor or whoever and then meeting the kid's mystery guest."

So Balthier would come along? Ashe had paid with her ring just to get to St. Louis – how long was Balthier planning to accompany them? Once they were back in Chicago he could return to his crime and his bootlegging. Why further endanger himself? "What is it you're after, Balthier? You've been a great help to Ashe, but why are you so invested in the future of R.A. Banastre?"

The fellow smiled, a smile carefully constructed to conceal his true intent. And his hat did a fine job of hiding his eyes and any truth that could be gleaned from them. "Worried I'm out to sell that formula she's got to the highest bidder? Can't say I'm not used to people doubting me, but that's not it at all. Do you want me to pinky swear you or something?"

He was embarrassed. Balthier had clearly seen the accusation coming. "I'm sorry. But with everything that's happened, trust is a tricky thing." Basch could still not shake the image of Vossler on the train, willingly letting the momentum carry him to his death after betraying them all. He sighed at Balthier's curious gaze. "You've just been acting more interested than I'd have thought. For a man who seems so occupied with his...regular occupation."

"I'm only here to see how it all turns out." Larsa emerged from the elevator and started walking toward them. Balthier put his coat back on and tipped his fedora to Basch before heading for the exit. "Any self-respecting leading man would do the same."

Basch trailed behind him, letting the gangster's words sink in. See how it all turns out? Balthier was not as good a liar as he seemed to think he was.

--

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Jahara, for me, is one of the most boring parts of the game. Hope to have another update soon! Thanks for your continued patience.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

1915

Sasbachwalden, Germany

_Johanna set her meager breakfast down before her. "Is he gone?"_

_Fran shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes, not that it is any business of yours."_

_Her sister scowled. "Since Mama died, your business must be mine." Johanna stabbed at her egg angrily. "How could you bring this shame to us?"_

_She shrugged. "I do not see shame in it. He promised to return." Kurt was off to the front now, somewhere in France. His regiment had been stationed in town for several weeks, and unlike most people, Kurt hadn't cared what color skin she had. To him, Franziska Grunwort was as German as he was. In her twenty-one years, no one had shown her the kindness and love that he had in their few moments together._

_Her father had come from Tanganyika to be educated and he'd taken a German name, secreting her mother along. He returned to the colonial government in Deutsche-Ostafrika, leaving their mother behind with Fran and her sister. Johanna and Franziska were born and raised German, yet most in their town remained unfriendly. Now Johanna was all Fran had left, along with their house._

"_He doesn't love you," her sister sneered. "You just gave him what he wants. All men are the same, Franziska."_

_Fran bit her toast, ignoring her sister. Kurt was coming back. The war wouldn't last forever._

–

Fran had grown increasingly agitated as they came closer to the neighborhood where they would spend the night. Knowing that Larsa would be paying for their train tickets, would it be so hard to ask for him to find them lodgings as well? Ashe could tell that Fran and her sister were not on good terms just from the sad look in the older woman's eyes.

It was a poorer neighborhood, but at least they would stay out of the spotlight. They arrived at the end of a block in front of an aging but sturdy clapboard house. "We wait for the others," Fran said quietly, and they waited in front of the metal fence that ringed the property. It was exceptionally cold – why would they wait outside when they could be inside?

The children huddled together while Fran crossed her arms and stood still as a statue. Ashe frowned, hoping to see the two men and Larsa return sooner rather than later. Within the half hour, another bus deposited them at the corner of the block, and finally Fran opened the gate. They moved to trudge up the dirt walk to the porch when Basch caught her arm.

"We don't want to impose on Fran's family too long. Can't afford having anyone else involved, so the tickets are for tomorrow afternoon," he informed her, showing her a small envelope tucked inside his coat.

"I appreciate your taking care of this," she told him. "In fact, I haven't been appreciative enough, Basch."

He shook his head as the group gathered on the porch, and they remained behind. Fran knocked on the door, and they waited. Larsa stood chatting with Vaan and Penny, the three of them standing close to stay warm. "You think it's good to keep the kid around? He has a powerful family," Basch reminded her.

"Seems like the only choice we have right now since we're broke." She looked at her feet. "But to work together...would my father want me to cooperate with a Solidor?"

Basch seemed to think on it for a moment. "It may be shameful for you, and for me as well...but R.A. Banastre is more than you and me. The employees receive a pitiful wage. Working with Larsa now, we could ask for them to pay the employees what they are worth. Keep them from striking..."

"And you think Larsa's influential enough to get his brother to sign off on that?"

"It doesn't hurt to try. Even if we have to beg Larsa on hands and knees to take care of those still employed, and for those who have been unfairly let go..." Basch sighed. "I would ask on your behalf. There's no shame in it for me when I have nothing else to lose."

She had been so cruel to him, yet he would do this for her...would beg Larsa to consider the employees who would suffer through a tough Chicago winter. This man who had been locked away for two years and had borne it all to keep her father's secrets concealed. Ashe linked her arm through his and pressed her head against his shoulder. "I've spent time with the Workers' Union, Basch. They hate the Solidors and do not believe their promises."

She rubbed her hands together, wondering what was taking the sister so long. Couldn't Fran or Balthier pick the lock on the door? Or did the bonds of family make such a thing out of the question?

Basch huddled together with her. "There's still hope." Gesturing with his other hand to the children, he almost sounded happy. "Larsa is a Solidor, but I'd say his promises are genuine. There is a future in that."

Vaan and Penny teased Larsa, threatening him with snowballs. Ashe wondered if the others whose lives had been affected by Archadia Industries would be so kind and accepting. There was little time to keep pondering as the door to the home was opened. A severe looking woman with brown skin and long hair like Fran's, but obviously lacking the latter's kindness, held the door ajar.

Fran turned to look at the woman, and they all grew silent.

–

1917

Sasbachwalden, Germany

_The crying, wouldn't the child just stop crying? Fran couldn't move from the floor, the telegram in shreds at her feet. Some fellow soldier had sent it, not even knowing her surname. Franziska in Sasbachwalden._

"_Kurt dead Passchendaele."_

_Her sister was in the doorway. "I told you."_

_She wouldn't look up. Johanna could be cruel when she was victorious. Her sister's heart was cold, though Fran could see herself traveling a similar road now that Kurt was never coming back. Johanna walked over to the cradle, her footsteps creaking on the floor beside her._

_Fran studied the scuff marks in the wood planked floor. "Mia will have a good life. I will give her that."_

_The baby's cries were soothed then as Johanna rocked her. "The neighbors do not know or care when Mama died, Fran."_

_Finally, she looked up, her tears clouding her vision. "What?"_

"_Give it some thought," were the only words Johanna offered in reply._

–

"Do you want me to find him or not, Helen?"

She twisted the telephone cord in her fingers and frowned. "I told you in confidence of the young master's whereabouts. That you would go to Vayne over my head..."

"Look, sweetheart," David Bergan shouted noisily over the line. "You think he's tracking down that B'Nargin girl, and I'll find 'em. I'm already getting the word out. Vayne's the kid's brother, you're just the nanny."

Helen Drace fumed. Word had made it to Vayne that his brother was in the Midwest following Ashelia B'Nargin. It had been foolish of her to let it slip to an arrogant ass like Bergan that she knew where Larsa was, but the man was the head of the Chicago arm of the Solidor security detail – Larsa's whereabouts were Bergan's responsibility in that part of the country. But she'd never intended for the stupid Pinkerton to snatch the boy back before his mission was complete.

"Vayne is in enough trouble as it is, David," she informed him. The elder Solidor son was due in New York on that evening's train to face his father and the board. "Your loyalty to Gramis should outweigh loyalty to the son."

Bergan laughed. "The board can't touch Vayne. He's not going down for anything – if Daddy wants his Pinkerton pals to stay in line, he'll do what Vayne says. You know who we're loyal to, Helen."

"Oh, is that so?" she spat at him, wishing he was standing before her so she could wring his neck. Vayne Solidor did not write the Pinkerton agency's checks – his father and the Archadia Industries accounting department did. But since the son used the glorified thugs more than Gramis did, their loyalty had seemingly swayed more than she'd bargained for. "You remind me of Zecht. He followed Vayne's schemes without question, but since the incident with the Heios family...he vanished, Bergan."

"You don't know a thing about Zecht, Helen. He was one of the best, earned every paycheck like a loyal Pinkerton." The man's voice had grown considerably more menacing as their call continued. She was growing more afraid that he would do Larsa harm in order to obey Vayne.

Helen shut her eyes against the knowledge that was more and more apparent. Vayne had sent along paper records of things he'd done since taking over in Chicago – it was more than she'd thought possible. "Your boss, David...he's done terrible things. He's murdered in the name of this company. He is ruthless beyond contempt!"

Bergan laughed. "You're all bark and no bite, Drace. If every business was run the way Vayne Solidor wants to, this country would be doing a lot better. No more kowtowing to the selfish bickering of boards and old men. Men like Vayne are the future, darling. You just have to accept it." With that, the horrible man hung up on her, and she slammed the receiver back in its cradle.

She stormed out of her office, just down the hall from Gramis' and saw the older man's chief bodyguard hovering in wait for her. "Helen, is something wrong?"

She was ready to tear at her hair. "Mr. Zargabaath, you do not share your colleague Bergan's views on the future of this company, do you?"

The man was confused. "Ma'am?"

She stormed off to the floor lounge, Zargabaath at her heels. Noah Gabranth gave them both a nod of acknowledgment when they entered, and she poured herself a cup of coffee. Everything was getting out of her control – Larsa potentially in danger, the old man laid up with pneumonia at the worst possible time, Vayne returning to New York...

Her grip on the coffee mug tightened. "Vayne will..." She took a sip and tried to calm herself. "His father is very ill, Richard. He knows this. Heios and his son? That looked like an accident, you know."

The other man winced. "Helen, you shouldn't talk like that. Vayne would never..."

Gabranth looked up from his paper. "He's already here."

Zargabaath raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Drace felt sick. They'd lied to her about Vayne's itinerary? He was already in the city? "He took an earlier train?"

Noah nodded. "Arrived at Grand Central over an hour ago."

And no one had thought to tell her? Zargabaath ran a hand through his hair. "Then he's probably on his way to the house. I'd better go." He looked at her warily. "Helen, you coming?"

She took a long drink from her mug and shook her head. "I have some of Mr. Solidor's papers to bring from his office. I'll be back in another hour."

Richard nodded, turning around and departing the lounge. Once she and Noah were alone, she sat down at the table across for him. He was studying the newspaper closely, obviously ignoring her. She set down her mug, begging for him to meet her eyes. "You didn't tell me."

Noah shrugged. "I only just found out."

"And here you sit without a care in the world?"

He looked at her over the top of the _New York Times_. "Helen..."

"Larsa is still in St. Louis. He meets with the man from Margrace Oil within the week in Chicago. What on earth do we tell Vayne? He'll want to see his brother." She left out the bit about Larsa trying to find Ashelia B'Nargin – Gabranth didn't need to get in trouble on her account.

"You've done a fine job lying until now," he told her, the slightest smile at the corners of his mouth.

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks, but she rose from the chair to look away from him. "Larsa ensures the security of Archadia Industries. A twelve year old, Noah. He does far more than his brother, and he won't be a pawn of the board's whims."

"Make up a lie about a school retreat. The Collegiate boys are always getting into trouble." Helen heard him stand, his footsteps bringing him closer until he was standing just behind her. She could smell his cologne, he was so close. "Vayne being back here is a problem, but we'll handle it. The board's terrified of him, but you're not, Helen."

His hand was on the small of her back, and she wished to turn, but would not. There were far more important worries at hand. "I'll speak with Gramis. Get Vayne tickets to a show tonight and get him away from the house. We have to take care of Larsa. Promise me, Noah."

"Of course," he told her, rubbing her shoulder in encouragement before departing the lounge with a click of the door. She took a deep breath and straightened her blouse. It would take all her strength to lie to someone as cunning as Vayne Solidor...but it was for Larsa's sake. She would do it.

–

1926

Ellis Island, New York

_The questions came quickly, too quickly. Studying phrases on the boat hadn't helped, and Mia had spent most of the time ill from the restless ocean. Johanna was stubborn as ever, seeing no need to learn English. Fran had to speak for all of them._

"_Sasbachwalden, near Black Forest," she said slowly, the words not forming readily in her mind. They were asked about their home, how their family had gotten to Germany, why they were now in America, and then when Fran began answering about birthdays…_

"_Drei Schwestern," Johanna said loudly, holding Mia close to her side._

"_What was that?" the immigration agent inquired, and Fran kept her balled fists inside her coat._

"_Das macht nichts," she said, then remembered where she was. Johanna's remark had jarred her from answering in English. "I mean to say, it doesn't matter. My sister, she does not learn English right now."_

"_Drei Schwestern," Johanna insisted, running her hand through Mia's curls. Fran begged her with a look. They didn't need to continue this here, did they? America would be different._

"_Speak up, Fraulein!" the agent said bitterly._

_Johanna smiled, moving Fran out of the way. "Th-three…" She tested the words on her tongue, and Fran could see the effort it took. "Three sisters. Franziska, Johanna, Mia. Wer sind three sisters."_

_The agent nodded. "That's fine, Fraulein, that's mighty fine. Willkommen to the United States." The man stamped their papers, asserting that the Grunwort family consisted of three sisters._

_Fran watched Johanna pull Mia ahead through the busy lines, and her heart sank. Mia was almost ten now…it was far too late to tell her._

"_Move along, Fraulein!" the agent bellowed. "Lots more where you came from, get going!"_

_She picked up her suitcase and followed her sister and child into America._

–

They were escorted into a side parlor by Fran's sister Johanna. The grumpy woman was serving the others tea, but she hadn't given him so much as a second glance as they entered the house. Fran had barely gotten out a sentence before Johanna had simply stood back and let them inside. He waited in the darkened hallway with Fran while the other woman played hostess and encouraged the others to be comfortable in her broken English.

As soon as Johanna left the room, the others stared at them. Fran turned away, facing the banister in the foyer instead of the others. He crossed his arms and stood beside her, where he would remain until this business was over. Balthier would rather be in prison than in Johanna Grunwort's home. Vaan came wandering into the hallway, Ashe at his heels.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked curiously, and Balthier wished they would just get through this night in silence. But with Vaan around, it was unlikely.

Fran smirked. "I'm not quite welcome in this place."

Ashe looked embarrassed. "Fran, I'm sorry...is it something we've done? Are we imposing?"

"We?" Fran replied, shaking her head. "No. It is I." She moved away from the staircase, sliding open the door to the dining room. Vaan was confused, but Balthier waved him off. The kid would never get it. Thankfully, Ashe pulled Vaan back into the parlor while Balthier followed Fran into the dining room.

She sat down in one of the chairs, staring absently at a stain on the wall. "We didn't have to stay here," he told her quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We could still leave."

"We don't have much choice," she reminded him. "We rely on Larsa for money. A child. I will not ask him to pay for lodgings as well."

He felt like the lowest of the low. It was his fault that she was miserable. It was his fault that she was unwelcome in this house. "Frannie, I'm sorry..."

She chuckled. "This is for you as much as it is for me."

"Oh really?" he inquired, not liking where the conversation was going. He'd been nagging her for days now about being in Johanna's house. Now here they were.

She raised her hand to cover his, interlacing their fingers. "You are in a daze, Balthier. This business with Cid..." He pulled his hand away as if she'd burned him. Her face was almost teasing when she looked up from the table at him. "You always let your eyes betray your heart."

He sighed, moving to examine a dying plant in the corner of the room. "Right." Knowing that his father was involved with all this Greek fire, R.A. Banastre nonsense...what did it matter? He left home, left that stuff behind. It didn't bother him.

Balthier tried thinking of some sort of retort to get Fran off his case, but he didn't get a chance. Vaan was knocking at the dining room door. Privacy was apparently not a word in the kid's vocabulary. He poked his head inside. "Hey Fran, your sister's asking questions but uh...German isn't exactly a first language for us..."

Fran shook her head. Even after all these years, Johanna would not let go of the old country. "Mia, she is probably upstairs. Her English is much better than Johanna's. We will explain to Mia why we are here."

Balthier followed Vaan back into the parlor where Johanna was apparently giving Ashe the third degree. The young heiress looked confused, her face increasingly pink with each rapid fire question in German. She looked grateful to see Fran return, although his friend stayed in the doorway.

Vaan waved for Johanna's attention. "So uh, Fran has another sister right? Mia? Is she around?"

Balthier watched the older sister's eyes darken, narrowing in Fran's direction. Johanna's expression was cruel, even more than he'd remembered. It was a face that made you freeze in your tracks – there was hatred in this look that Balthier had seen before. Johanna had looked at him that way just over three years ago. It made his skin crawl. Johanna started talking quickly in German, and even his schoolboy's study of the language kept him from understanding the conversation as Fran started arguing back in a similarly quick fashion.

Ashe looked at him for answers, since he was the only link to Fran in the room. He had only understood one or two words per sentence and still the sisters were arguing, leaving everyone else silent. Johanna rose from the sofa where she was sitting and looked him in the eye. Whatever she had argued about with Fran, it was obviously his fault for some reason.

"Mia..." Johanna spat. "Not in the home now."

"She ran away?" he asked her. When he and Fran had left, the girl had been about twelve or so. She'd only be about fifteen now. "For good?"

Fran looked crushed, her grip tightening on the doorframe as her sister looked at her angrily. "She works downtown, a club..."

"You let her go to a place like that?" he shouted at Johanna. The girl was younger than Penny and working at a speakeasy. "What's wrong with you?"

Johanna smiled at him, not looking away as she gave her explanation in German. Fran was shaking now. "Johanna says that Mia wants to...that she wants to be like me. And that she is as welcome in this house as myself and Balthier."

"You'd forsake your own..." He caught himself. "She's your sister!"

Vaan apparently thought he was a part of this conversation. "Wait, so Fran's little sister is working in some place that's bad news? We could...well, couldn't we go get her? Bring her home?"

"Tonight?" Ashe interrupted, and Balthier couldn't blame her for it. They had big plans that next afternoon.

Fran cleared her throat. "You do not have to come...I will take care of family problems. You can go without me tomorrow."

He shook his head. "No, you're not going alone." If the tone in Fran's voice was any indication, Johanna had said a lot more about this club than Fran had shared so far. Balthier felt responsible enough for the kid, even though he hadn't seen her in years. Mia belonged in school.

"Where is it?" Basch asked quietly, keeping Ashe calm with a firm look. They had until the middle of the next day to find Mia. And it was clear that the others wanted to help in exchange for their room and board.

Even Larsa seemed interested. "What is this club?"

"Silver Mine Club," Johanna said, seeming to understand more English than she actually spoke.

Larsa looked surprised. "My...brother...he..."

"What? Spit it out, kid!" Balthier muttered in exasperation.

"He owns that club," the boy informed them. Great. The Solidor family was everywhere. They'd even gotten their sticky fingers into bootlegging and crime here in St. Louis. It was the last place Mia needed to be, that was for certain.

Ashe stood, seeing that she was being outvoted. "Very well. In exchange for the hospitality, we should find Fran's sister. But..." She turned to him, and he was almost knocked back by the earnestness in her gaze. "Balthier, you have a club like this, right? They won't just let us in, will they?"

Basch interrupted them with a cough. "I will stay here with the children..."

"No fair!" Vaan cried, and Penny rolled her eyes. Larsa looked disappointed, but Balthier suspected that the kid would love the opportunity to see the inside of a Solidor-run speakeasy.

Fran eyed her sister. "If we get Mia to come home, you let her stay."

Johanna was unmoved. "She leave of own idea. You leave of own idea. Don't need criminal in house."

He was ready to strangle the damn shrew, but Fran's hand was on his arm in seconds. "She will change her mind," she whispered in his ear. "But we must go tonight."

The others were still expectant of direction. Why the hell were they all looking at him? "Fine. Frannie, Ashe...you'll get in the club no problem." He pulled his pistol from the holster inside his jacket. "I'll keep an eye on you."

"No guns!" Johanna shouted at him, and he set it down on the coffee table as a peace offering.

"I'm not going into a Solidor club with a gun, honey," he told the woman, for all that she could understand him. He turned to Fran and nodded. No need for Johanna to know about the gun in his side holster. "Come on, let's get you girls ready."

–

1928

Greenville, Mississippi

_Fran didn't think she'd ever been so tired in her life. The lawyers in the firm had stayed late that night, which meant she hadn't even been able to get in there with a mop and bucket until half past ten. Johanna would be furious when she got home, as she always was. Fran had tried to get her sister to work, to earn money to help support them. Mia was in school most of the day, speaking English and getting along as best she could with the other children. Only Johanna refused to venture outside the house, keeping her German traditions and ignoring anything blatantly American._

_Not that America had been so welcoming. In their two years there, they were still outsiders. Their skin kept them separate from the whites, their language and heritage made them strange and different from the blacks in the neighborhood. Fran sighed. Her knees ached from scrubbing the tile entryway to the law firm, but she had little choice. Few other places would hire her._

_The road from downtown back to their tiny house was poorly lit, and Johanna hated that she worked so far away. They couldn't afford to move closer to town, couldn't her sister see that? Only if Johanna got a job, but she wouldn't…and there they remained. One of these days, she was going to take Mia and get out of Mississippi. The cities in the north would have better paying jobs, and she and her "little sister" wouldn't look or feel as out of place._

_Her mind was miles away when she was shoved down in the dirt. "Where's your money, huh?" Her English had improved, but the drawl of the people in the area always took her mind ages to process._

"_Ich habe…I have nothing," she answered, wheezing as another blow was landed against her stomach._

"_Come on bitch, give it here," the second man of Lord knew how many shouted. She was on her hands and knees, dirt under her nails as they tore at her clothes. She'd heard of the violence, of the Klan…they were active around here, but these men didn't need hoods. She was alone, and they had the upper hand._

"_Please," she begged. "I do not…" This time, her head. She ate the soil, thought of Kurt, thought of Mia._

"_Hey!" A voice then in the night, not the same accent as these men. "Get the hell off her!"_

"_Mind your tongue, pretty boy, this ain't no concern of yours!"_

_Her rescuer and the men argued, and she wanted to tell this man to go away, to let them do what they liked to her before he got himself killed. But then there were the bangs, the horrible, loud bangs that reminded her of the roaring tanks during the war. It was so close to her, and she felt the attackers' blood splatter on her._

"_Come on," she heard his voice next to her ear, and he was dragging her to her feet. "Come on, lady, we have to get you out of here." She could barely stand, could only taste dirt and blood. Three men, shot dead on the footpath. This man had killed them to save her._

_He was tall and handsome, but just a baby. Fran watched his shaking hand toss the handgun behind a few bushes, and he introduced himself as Balthier. She told him how to get her home. He wasn't from Mississippi, but he was flying planes for some bootlegger down here. But that was all over now, she knew it._

_When he brought her to the door, Johanna cursed at him in German, accusing him of rape and robbery._

"_Why would he bring me home?" Fran yelled at her sister in their mother tongue. "He helped me!"_

_Johanna saw the blood on them and put the pieces together. "You endanger me! You endanger Mia with this!"_

_Balthier, who was barely nineteen, was trembling in the doorway. "Ma'am, you can't stay here. They're going to come looking, they can follow the blood."_

_The four of them left that night._

–

The Silver Mine Club wasn't in a good part of town, that much she was sure of. Ashe never thought she'd be grateful to have Balthier close by. He walked at her side as Fran led the way down the darkened alleyway.

"According to Johanna, it is the last one in the line," the older woman said.

Balthier had been pretty quiet. "Thank you for coming," he told her, staying out of Fran's earshot. "Mia is very dear to her."

Ashe wasn't sure why she'd even volunteered to come along. Balthier and Fran could easily have gone to retrieve the girl alone, but as soon as word had emerged that The Silver Mine Club was one of the under the table speakeasies run by Solidor cronies, she couldn't say no.

They were just outside of the club when she heard several bangs. Before she could duck, Balthier had already pulled her aside behind the building, nearly crushing her against the brick with the speed of his movements. Fran lunged forward instead, her sister's name on her lips.

"Fran, don't go in there!" Balthier shouted, but it was too late. The woman had already found her way inside. The gangster looked down at her, pulling a gun from his holster. Clearly, the one he'd left at Johanna's was not his only firearm. "Ashe, I..."

His eyes were serious, more than she'd ever seen. Much as she didn't want him running into a gunfight, there wasn't much she could do. "Go," she told him, grabbing his empty hand and squeezing it. "Go see if the girl is okay."

"Basch will murder me in my sleep if I leave you alone in an alley," he mumbled. "Come on, stay behind me." She could hear tires screeching, and she imagined that whoever had launched the attack in the club had headed out the front entrance and had finished what they'd come for. Balthier pulled her through the back door, and she kept behind him.

They could hear people screaming and running out in the other rooms, but nobody was headed their way. His gun at the ready, she followed Balthier up a rickety staircase. There was light at the end of a hallway on the second floor, and the door there was ajar. He held up his hand, halting her. Waiting for a second, he finally turned and held out his gun in the doorway. Ashe could barely breathe.

Balthier lowered his gun, beckoning for her to follow him into the room. Fran was kneeling on the floor, and a girl around Penny's age was huddled against her. The girl, presumably Mia, was the spitting image of her older sister, almost eerily so although her hairstyle was closer to Ashe's. The girl wore a tight fitting leotard and a bow-tie collar. An overturned box on the floor indicated Mia's occupation – she was a cigarette girl for the club.

She and Balthier stayed back while Fran rocked the girl in her arms. Thankfully, she appeared to be unhurt. "Auntie, it's you?"

"Yes, mein Blum, it is me. What happened?"

The girl was shaking. "Raid...they say it was the Prohibition bureau, but I was in here hiding...everything was downstairs, the gunshots..."

"What were you doing working in a place like this?" Fran asked her.

"You're as reckless as your sister," Balthier chastised the girl, but his voice was more tender than cruel. Balthier's history with Fran obviously went back long enough to be well acquainted with her baby sister.

"The Solidors, well, the Pinkerton men pay us if we get customers to tell information," Mia mumbled. "I wanted to earn enough to move to Chicago with you. But it was strange tonight, Auntie."

"Strange?"

"The Pinkertons are looking for a little boy. He is supposed to be in St. Louis." Fran met her and Balthier's faces – were they looking for Larsa? "But then there was the raid and...well, I don't know what is going on."

Fran helped the girl to her feet. "You are safe now, Mia. Come, we must get you home." The girl barely had the strength to protest and went along with her sister's orders.

They heard police sirens in the distance, and they hurried from the building. When they were back in the alley, Balthier kept them a few paces behind Fran and Mia. "Larsa's a problem," he told her quietly. "If they're talking him up in a back alley joint, there's going to be trouble. Every hired goon in the city's probably looking for him. We need to get back to Chicago, and fast."

"I know," she answered him. As they walked, she noticed Balthier staring sadly ahead at his friend and the girl. "Balthier, what happened with Fran and her sisters?"

He shook his head, his despondent expression shocking her into silence. "_I _happened."

–

1928

St. Louis, Missouri

_Balthier's excitement was contagious. "The Chicago Outfit, Frannie," he gushed. "They need someone to manage a club for them. A real gin joint in the city…money. Real money, for all of us."_

_She smiled at her friend, her savior. It had been a hard few months, traveling steadily north. It had pained her to take Mia out of school, and Johanna would not even look at Balthier, who she saw as the man who had ruined all their lives by daring to save Fran's._

_Balthier had been engaged in petty crime for the past few years since he'd left his own home, and now he'd roped her in. Not like she minded. She'd never felt so alive, driving around in fast cars and robbing from people who probably hated her anyway. They moved from week to week, making contacts and proving themselves reliable. Chicago was a great place to go. But Johanna told her to have Balthier leave the room._

"_That is no place for a child, Franziska. Mia and I stay here."_

"_No, you can't do this!" She heard the creaking floorboard, could tell that Balthier was listening just on the other side of the door. "You cannot take my…"_

_Johanna's smile was devilish. She knew that Balthier was educated, had run away from a privileged home. The both of them had seen the way the young man tried to pretend he didn't understand a few words here and there. Johanna dared her to say it out loud. In English or in German, Fran could not._

"_You cannot make me leave my baby sister," she said in defeat._

"_Franziska, you know this is for the best. You cannot bring Mia to a place like that. You know she is safer here with me."_

_Fran slammed the door hard as they left. Balthier didn't say a word as he started up the car they'd stolen just the day before. His eyes were always so telling, though, and she suspected that he'd known all along that the Grunwort family was not made up of drei Schwestern._


End file.
